


Telling the Bees

by Cibee (Cibeeeee)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Pining, despite the summary there's actually a lot of Scorpius content, discussion of child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cibeeeee/pseuds/Cibee
Summary: Scorpius’  body was found in Hogwarts one early morning.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Scorpius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 204
Kudos: 866
Collections: Drarry Daze 01





	Telling the Bees

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the [Darry Daze fest](https://drarrydaze-fest.tumblr.com/)   
> The prompt is as following:
> 
> “Yes, horrible things do happen. Happiness, in the face of all of that, that’s not the goal. Feeling horrible, and knowing that you’re not gonna die from those feelings, that’s the point. ”
> 
> This is just a long story about Draco handling grief
> 
> beta'd by [Pineau_noir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir) ! thank you so much! All remaining mistakes are mine.

Draco Malfoy was drinking his first cup of tea that day when an owl tapped on his window.

* * *

The Auror Handbook stated that incident reports concerning an Auror’s family members would not be assigned to said Auror. Instead, said Auror would be notified promptly in an appropriate and dignified manner in a private environment by the head of the department. 

Despite this, Harry couldn’t help but be frightened out of his wits when his team arrived at the Headmistress’ office in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after a body was reported found at the Paved Courtyard. He wouldn’t be asked to lead this case if it was one of his children — but images of it still raced through his mind like a built-in Boggart as McGonagall led them down spirals and spirals of stairs that were uncharacteristically still. Students huddled together, watching the succession, for once, quiet in Harry’s presence. 

“We’ve closed off the area for now,” McGonagall said. “Thank goodness a staff found — found him.”

Harry’s heart stuttered. For a moment he had the terrible thought of wishing the body was one of the staff, too. He’d learned to live with these sharp and ugly thoughts. To expect them, really. But the guilt remained constant. 

The way McGonagall’s lips were pinched, Harry thought perhaps she was wishing for the same thing too.

“Who is it?” Harry asked under his breath.

“I’ve already contacted the boy’s parent,” McGonagall replied tersely.

 _Parent_ , Harry thought. 

When they finally got to the Entrance Hall, Harry spotted Slytherin students at the stairway leading to the dungeon. Albus stood alone at the very front, his face shiny with panic, as he looked at his father beseechingly. Albus knew better to come running towards Harry and Harry knew better to let him. Harry gave him a reassuring nod, kept walking.

The Paved Courtyard was very open when devoid of Gobstones players and dueling clubs, and it was impossible to miss the shock of white-blond hair on the ground. 

Harry stepped forward with McGonagall while the rest of the Aurors started casting on the perimeter. Harry dropped gently to one knee, wishing so much he could reach out and close Scorpius’ eyes. Instead, Harry cast over him, preserving the body for forensic Healers. The spell obscured the body into a mass of blurry shapes.

Harry didn’t want to stand up. His body was stiff when he stepped away, joining McGonagall. She was still looking at the blur on the stone ground where Scorpius was. 

“Albus . . .” and Harry felt like the most loathsome creature, asking about his own children in the death of someone else’s. “He didn’t see, did he?”

“No,” McGonagall replied. “We need to go back to my office. He might be there already.”

Harry closed his eyes briefly. 

Students were gone by the time the pair went back into the castle. Hogwarts breathed slowly in this absence of sound and frenzy. The walls shuddered when Harry walked past, pushing them forward. The way back was much shorter than the way down, soon McGonagall was pushing the door to her office open once more, and Harry, for the first time, hated his job.

Hogwarts provided a lush, ornate bergère for Draco to wait in. He didn’t turn around when he said, “The door wouldn’t let me out.”

McGonagall sat down behind her desk, movements stilted. Harry stepped up to face Draco, the familiar frantic heartbeat that usually accompanied the presence of this man now felt suffocating instead of electrifying. Harry could never make the situation better, but he could certainly make it far worse than it needed to be.

Draco snapped his face away when he saw Harry, as though he could delude himself that an Auror wasn’t here. Harry couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening, and the words came out robotic, but there wasn’t any other way to deliver it if Harry wanted to stay intact enough for Draco. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and leaned away from Harry, his breath coming out short. 

“I,” Harry started. Swallowed. Told himself to open his mouth again. “I am to inform you that your son — ”

“Don’t finish that, Harry,” Draco said. Then, “Please.”

Harry allowed himself to dismiss the rule of “eye contact” since Draco wasn’t looking at him. “Has been found dead in Hogwarts. On behalf of the Auror Department, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss.”

“What family?” Draco asked. “Scorpius was it.”

“We don’t know anything yet,” Harry said. “It could be an accident, or — ”

A knock came. McGonagall waved her wand at the door and one of the other Aurors stepped in. In his hands floated a small orb.

“What is it?” Harry asked, waving the man in. 

“We found this on the body,” he said, before skittering to a stop at the sight of Draco. 

“Just give it to me,” Harry said coldly. The man deposited the orb in Harry’s palm and scampered out of the office. Harry levitated the evidence out of the protective magic. It was a piece of parchment. 

“What does it say?” Draco asked. He had uncurled himself. Now he was standing far straighter than Harry had ever seen him. 

“This is official evidence,” Harry said tightly, already casting to wrap it back into the orb.

Draco turned and snatched the parchment out of the air before Harry could finish. Harry slapped it out of his hand, furious and panicked, but Draco had seen it quite clearly. It was only a few words, after all. The parchment drifted for a few seconds before disappearing into thin air.

“Harry,” Draco said. His voice was very blank. His body rigid. “I . . . I need to . . .”

“Anything.” Harry stepped toward Draco, ready to guide him to the Floo when McGonagall suddenly spoke up. “Mr. Potter,” she said.

But she wasn’t looking at Harry. She was staring right at the center of the room. Harry looked at the floor, where the piece of parchment should have been, and felt his stomach dropped.

“Albus,” he said. 

The air shimmered and Albus slid out underneath the Cloak like a ghost. The piece of parchment crumbled between his fingers. He was looking at Draco with wide eyes.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Albus said. “This is _your_ fault.”

And it was like the marshland they were stuck in before vanished as Hogwarts let out a thrum at Albus’ words. Draco finally started, so violently he stumbled into Harry just as Harry bellowed “ _Albus_!” and McGonagall snapped “Mr. _Potter_!” while all the portraits gasped and Albus screaming, screaming, stomped right up to Draco and thrust the words _Death Eater’s Son_ right in Draco’s face and screaming “He’s dead _because of you_!” And Draco pressed back into Harry, crying and nodding. Nodding.

•················•·················•

No wizarding preschool would take Scorpius, and Draco didn’t want Scorpius to be homeschooled. He believed that was one of the reasons he was so inept at social relationships. He thought Scorpius would make better friends if his father didn’t have to bribe people into telling their kids to pretend to like Scorpius.

“There’s one way,” Astoria said. Draco sighed.

“I suppose so,” Draco said.

He was so nervous when he took Scorpius to enroll, so afraid he would make a fool of himself. The teacher was kind as Draco spent long minutes reading through the preschool’s pamphlet, feeling the unfamiliar material under his fingers and looking at the colorful pictures. Asked the teacher _you teach Astrology_ _to children so young?_ And the teacher replied _well we call it Earth Science and it’s mostly just taking them to the Science Museum in South Kensington._ Before turning around and seeing Scorpius playing with two muggle children, screeching with laughter. 

Draco asked, “Will he make friends?”

The teacher replied, “That’s the main goal here.” And that was that.

* * *

Draco had a panic attack when Scorpius said he wanted to grow his hair out. Astoria took him aside and press kisses to his hair until he calmed down. Draco asked her, “Did I forget to put some of them away? Did he find photos of my father?” 

Astoria cupped his face. “You left all the pictures in the Manor, Draco. None of that is in this house. Let’s just go back and ask him, okay?”

Scorpius climbed into Draco’s lap when they returned. He pressed his face into Draco’s stomach and apologized, then Draco apologized back easily enough. Scorpius was the only one Draco could say sorry to without having to force himself (he had been doing it since Astoria was pregnant). And somewhere along, sorrys became easy for Scorpius to say, too.

“Did you not want me to help those sick people, Daddy?” Scorpius asked.

“What?”

“Today at school. Mr. Walters talked about some sick kids that have to stay in hospitals all the time. He says we can help them, write them letters . . . but this other teacher says we can give them stuff too.”

“Like what?” Draco asked cautiously. 

“Like blood or bones,” Scorpius replied seriously.

“ _Blood_?” Draco screeched, his mind immediately going to the worse type of blood curses. Wasn’t it bad enough that Astoria was suffering from it?

Astoria put a hand on Draco’s arm. “I think they’re talking about blood donations,” she said. “For cancer patients?”

“Yes!” Scorpius said. “Like the stars.”

“Calm down, Draco,” Astoria said. “The teachers told us about this lesson last week, remember?” 

“Well, I didn’t know _blood_ was involved,” Draco said crossly, resolved to ask about involvements of blood in all future lessons.

“But Mr. Walters says I’m too young to give the kids blood or bones,” Scorpius said. “But he says I can give them my hair, and I have to ask my parents.”

“Why would these children need hair?” Draco asked, more frightened than he would like to admit.

Astoria looked like she wanted to answer that, but she held back and Scorpius continued barreling on, even though she could see Draco’s confusion worsen at Scorpius’ explanation. When Scorpius finished, Draco looked at him seriously.

“You want to grow out your hair and give them to these children?” he asked.

“Yes,” Scorpius nodded seriously. 

Draco hummed. “We Malfoys do have very nice hair,” he said. “Some children will certainly benefit from it greatly.”

Seeing Scorpius so excited, Draco and Astoria unanimously sneaked in magic to help Scorpius’ hair growth. By the end of the month, Scorpius’ hair had reached his waist. 

“How is this possible?” one of the teachers at the preschool asked when Draco went to pick up Scorpius.

“Vitamin C,” Draco said solemnly, who had just read about it in one of the numerous pamphlets in the parents-waiting-area. 

“Ah,” the teacher nodded as if that explained everything. 

“Last picture!” Astoria said that afternoon. In Draco’s arm, Scorpius proudly showed off his hair to the camera. Together they stuck the polaroid at the very edge of the fireplace. Fourteen very still photos of Scorpius smiling, his hair longer with each picture. Astoria helped cut off Scorpius’ hair and Draco sat on the floor, writing on a big piece of paper at Scorpius’ command. Slowly and carefully, one letter at once so the children could understand. Astoria took pictures of them.

Scorpius held up his bag of hair the next day in front of the whole class. The paper he and Draco worked out stuck to the whiteboard behind him as he gave a presentation on growing his hair out for sick children. The teachers took a picture of that for Draco to take home. 

* * *

Scorpius sulked at the table, his plate of roast untouched. Draco fidgeted with his own food, not knowing how to traverse in conversation with Scorpius without Astoria’s presence. He got up and started the dishes, cowardly hoping Scorpius would talk about it on his own accord.

But the last of the plates put away, Scorpius was still silent and hungry. Draco sighed and sat back down.

“Sweetheart,” Draco said, tentatively. “Did something happen in school today?”

Scorpius sank further down into his chair. His little scowl darkened. If it wasn’t for the wavy hair, he would have looked just like Draco did at that age.

“Sweethear — ”

“She doesn’t like me!” Scorpius yelled, then promptly burst into messy tears.

Draco panicked, worried about both Scorpius and Astoria, who needed her quiet rest upstairs. He cast a Silencing Charm at the door and picked Scorpius up. The little boy jammed his face into the crook of Draco’s neck, wet and sticky. Draco held him tightly, chest aching at the sounds.

“Alice, you mean?” Draco asked. Scorpius nodded into Draco’s shirt.

“She said she doesn’t like me — like that, like a prince and princess. Then Martin said — ” Scorpius paused to hiccup, but instead cried louder. 

Draco let him cried until quiet sniffles were all that was left. “Martin said what?” Draco prodded. 

“He said,” Scorpius sounded like he was getting scolded. “He said when a girl doesn’t like you back, you make fun of her then she’ll notice you until she likes you back.”

Draco’s stomach clenched. “Scorpius,” he said quietly. “Don’t ever believe that.”

Scorpius drew back. Snot and tears and spit trailing after his red and sad face. “She said she hates me.”

“You hurt Alice, Scorpius.”

“I just wanted her to like me.”

“That’s not a reason to be mean, and you know it. Why did you do it?”

“I wanted her to like me.”

“I liked a boy once,” Draco said instead. “He didn’t like me.”

“Were you mean to him?” Scorpius hiccuped.

“Yes,” Draco said. “And that made him hate me too. It doesn’t work, Scorpius, don’t ever do it again.”

“Okay,” Scorpius said. “What happened with the boy?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Draco said, somewhat regretting bringing it up. “But for now, it doesn’t matter why, it just matters that Alice doesn’t like you that way, and you need to see that as it is.”

“I don’t get it,” Scorpius said petulantly.

“It’s okay that she doesn’t like you back like prince and princess, sweetheart.” Scorpius wasn’t like young Draco in the slightest. He wasn’t not liked because he had an ugly personality. Scorpius was just a boy who made a mistake.“But it’s not her fault. She can still be your friend. If you’re mean to her, she wouldn’t want to be your friend also. Is that what you want?”

“No,” Scorpius mumbled. “I like playing with her. But it makes me sad now too.”

“You don’t have to keep playing with her.” Draco kissed Scorpius’ hair. “You don’t even have to talk to her if it’s too hard — but never be unkind, Scorpius.”

Draco talked to Martin’s mother the next day at the pickup area. She was properly scandalized at her son’s advice. That done, Draco steered Scorpius to Alice and her mother. Scorpius went alone, and he looked at the ground the whole time, but he apologized. Alice scowled and flicked Scorpius on the back of his hand before hugging him tightly.

* * *

“Father, is something wrong?” 

Draco looked up to see Scorpius hovering by the door, backpack and lunch bag still in hand. 

“No,” Draco replied. His face still a little sore from holding back emotions. “Did something happen? I thought you were with Alice and Evelyn.”

“Evelyn’s mum forgot they had a doctor’s appointment. So they dropped me off.” Scorpius ventured into Draco’s study. “Are you sad?”

“A little bit, yes,” Draco said, and Scorpius was in his arms the next second. Draco carded his fingers through Scorpius’ hair and allowed himself one pathetic sniffle.

“Did people at work make you sad again?” Scorpius asked quietly. 

Draco nodded mutely, patting Scorpius’ hair all the while because he hated making his son upset. 

“Mum said you apologized a long time ago,” Scorpius said in a sullen tone. “My friends always forgive me right away. And I forgive them too.”

“But they’re not my friends,” Draco couldn’t help but laugh a little. “And I realize now, though it took me a while, people don’t have to forgive you.”

Scorpius was quiet in the way when he didn’t understand something. So Draco rested his cheek on Scorpius’ hair, pondering how to explain it when he was just starting to understand these things himself, too. 

“Sometimes what a person did is just that awful,” Draco said in the end, truthfully. “And sometimes sorry doesn’t make anything better.”

“Even if you are very sorry?”

“Yes, even that.”

“Even if you are very, very, very sorry?” Scorpius insisted. “You are very very very sorry, father.”

“Being that sorry doesn’t change what happened in the past. Especially if it hurt someone.” Draco kissed Scorpius’ cheek. “Not in the face of horrible things.”

“Then what now?” Scorpius was starting to sound distressed. “I don’t want you to be sad forever.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Draco said, the endearment something he only used very rarely ever since Scorpius had learned how to tie his own shoes. “I won’t be. I have you.”

* * *

His father was worried about Scorpius going to Hogwarts. He heard him talking about letting Scorpius continue school at the muggle one he had been going to, and his father would just apply for magic homeschooling. But his mother wanted him to go, “He’ll be sorted Slytherin,” she had said. “The boy’s got so much potential. I want him in Slytherin. It may save his life one day.”

“He’ll get bullied,” his father had replied, sounding so upset. “He’ll probably get bullied by Potter’s kids, like some reverse history. He didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

In the end, they sat Scorpius down and asked him what he wanted to do. His father’s face was resigned when Scorpius said he wanted to attend Hogwarts. It sounded so magical, the classes, the Great Hall, the paintings. He told them not to worry, and hugged his father extra tight.

The Malfoys’ journey to King’s Cross was a stressful one. Scorpius was aware of the stares and what they meant, but his parents’ hands were on his back the whole time. He kept his back straight and eyes forward for his father. And he kept his pocket full of sweets for the friends he hadn’t met. 

•················•·················•

Harry helped Draco back to his home, carefully steering Draco away from the pictures as they stumbled out of the fireplace. Draco pulled himself away from Harry as soon as they rightened themselves. 

Draco sat down in one of the stools in the kitchen. A cup of cold tea still on the island. He held one hand up to his face, hiding it from Harry and asked, “What now?”

Harry wanted to kill whoever did this.

“There will be an investigation,” Harry said instead. “You’ll — you’ll need to identify the body.”

“Do I have to go to the ministry?”

“No, we’ll bring you photos,” Harry closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but we . . . we can’t give Scorpius back until we find who did it.”

“Scorpius is gone,” Draco said. 

Now that they were alone, Harry felt the sting of tears against his eyes, and it felt like he would faint if he tried to hold them back. But this wasn’t even his baby. “I’m so sorry, Draco.”

“I need to be alone,” Draco said.

Every part of Harry screamed against it. If Harry left, Draco would be left by himself until Harry came back. Draco had no family left, now. None of his friends lived in the country. He barely got by with his colleagues, all of them still looked at Draco with enmity. (All of them who were now murder suspects.) 

“I won’t do anything,” Draco heaved. A weak effort. “I want to see a hanging.”

And that told Harry that Draco would still be here when Harry comes back for him, didn’t mean Draco would be alright. 

Draco dropped his hand. His eyes were dry. Still swollen. He gazed at nothing. 

“I need,” Draco said. “I need to process this. The wine cellar would be a good place to start.” 

Harry wanted to tell Draco no, ask him not to, as though Harry wouldn’t have done the same or more if it were him. Instead, he reached out and held onto Draco for a while, and Draco let him. The only thing Harry could do was to come back.

* * *

Draco stopped at the wine cellar. Cold, dark, and filled with countless bottles of untouched wine. One of the few things he brought from the Manor. Astoria had asked him why. _Why, you don’t drink!_ And Draco had said, _why, one day I might._

And as Draco stared blankly into the darkness, he thought, was this the day? The youngest wine here was fifteen years old. A gift from Pansy when Scorpius was born. He had scowled at her and asked _what am I supposed to do with this?_ She had laughed and said, _let it age with your wine relics. How many galleons do you think they’re worth? Draco, if you were ever to lose everything, these will only do you good._

Draco carefully drew out the bottle closest to him, looked at the label.

“Two hundred and twenty-five years old,” Draco said. “Not bad.” Then he hurled it at the floor. The glass shattered at his feet. Shards landed against his trousers and he could feel himself rip as he grabbed bottle after bottle. Draco was left gasping, soaked, and lightheaded from the fumes and wracking sobs. His vision swam and twisted. His body felt like someone’s punching bag and he convulsed into himself. _Draco, Draco!_ He heard. It was as if the voice wanted him to stop. But Draco didn’t want to stop, so why was it begging?

A pair of arms wrapped around Draco’s waist and words were being said into his ears. Draco gasped at the sudden pain that coursed through his skin as he startled. Someone put their arms around Draco’s biceps and tugged at him and then he was gasping into Harry’s shoulder for the second time in one day.

“Draco,” Harry was saying. “Draco! Can you hear me? You’re injured, please!”

Draco’s hands hurt as he closed them around Harry’s shirt so he let go. The fabric stuck to his skin for a split second and Draco whimpered. His palms were torn with jagged pieces and the wine stung as it caught in the flesh. Harry took out his wand and cast over Draco’s wounds. The pain dulled, and Harry was still looking at him, distraught. 

“Let’s go up,” Harry said, a hand on the small of Draco’s back guiding him. Draco stumbled despite it. “You need some salve for this, do you have some in the bath— ”

Then Draco caught sight of the pictures on their way to the bathroom. Scorpius’ toothy grins and flushed cheeks in every one of them and Draco’s knees buckled. Harry caught him with a grunt.

“No,” Draco was saying. “No, no, no, no — Scorpius — I — I need — I can’t — ”

“Anything you need,” Harry’s arms tightened around Draco and he was crying also. Tears smudged his glasses. “What do you need?”

“Get me out of here,” Draco said. And Harry Apparated. 

* * *

Harry landed in Grimmauld Place in a mess. Draco lurched forward and Harry moved to catch him. The armchair in the living room shrunk when Harry lowered Draco onto it, like it was expecting someone smaller. Draco tucked his hands close to himself.

The jar of salve and gauze slapped into Harry’s hand before he could think it. Harry tried to get Draco to let him see his hands but Draco wasn’t responding at first. Not until the fireplace roared up with flames that settled into a steady heat, and Harry belatedly realized Draco was still soaked and Grimmauld Place was trying to warm Draco up.

Harry dried Draco’s ruined clothes, but was reluctant to leave and fetch him new ones. Draco’s head lolled left and right before he looked up and asked, “Where are we?”

“My house,” Harry replied. “Draco, hey, can you let me see your hands?”

“Oh,” Draco said. He unfurled his fingers. The wounds had torn open again. Harry cleaned it up and put on the salve. Draco only reacted when Harry was wrapping his hands up with gauze, but it was only a small sigh.

Not wanting to leave Draco alone and wanting to get him into clean and warm clothes made Harry hesitate over getting up. Draco’s hands looked small in Harry’s, even though he knew they weren’t. 

Draco pulled his hand away from Harry’s and made moves to get up. 

“What are you doing?” Harry said, alarmed.

“I’m leaving,” Draco said. “Thank you for the — help.”

“Where are you going?” Harry hurried after Draco, heart in his throat. 

Draco turned. He didn’t look angry, and Harry knew what an angry Draco looked like, despite not seeing it for over a decade. Draco looked confused. 

“Where?” Draco echoed. “Well. I think. A hotel, or something. The Berkeleys?”

Harry’s throat worked. The idea didn’t just pop into his head. He’d been thinking about it since he left Draco that morning. The thought of Draco sleeping somewhere alone made Harry physically ill. He didn’t want Draco to lash out and accused him of pitying him, or savior complex, or something else. Then Harry would have to make up a reason so he wouldn’t have to say why he couldn’t bear seeing Draco going through something so — Harry couldn’t think of a single word adequate enough to describe it — and going through it alone. 

But still, Draco lashing out and calling him names was better than not attempting to at least try. So, tentatively, Harry said, “Why don’t you stay here?”

Draco didn’t seem to be processing Harry’s words. “What?”

“Stay here,” Harry barreled on. “You can stay in the room you stayed in before.”

“What room?” Draco frowned.

“You know,” Harry was feeling more and more exposed as this went on. “New Year party, you and — I mean, it was late and you stayed the night. You said the room was nice.” Harry really hoped Draco didn’t catch his slip and remembered he stayed because Scorpius and Albus wanted to. And Harry really hoped Draco didn’t catch the fact that Draco said that years ago and Harry had held it close — it wasn’t as if Draco had said _Harry_ was nice!

“Oh,” Draco said. “I don’t remember . . . the room. I was probably drunk.”

“Yeah, you were,” Harry laughed. “After a glass of whiskey. Who knew you couldn’t drink?”

Draco chuckled, trailed off weakly. Harry swallowed and continued, “I just thought it might be better, if you had some company.”

Draco’s gaze dropped. “That’s kind of you,” he said, and nothing more. Harry was prepared for a fight, albeit one-sided, since Harry had no intention of fighting back. 

“I just . . . ” Harry looked helplessly at the floor.

“I told you, you don’t have to worry about me doing anything,” Draco said stiffly. 

“I know you won’t,” Harry mumbled. “I just don’t want you to be alone.”

Draco shook his head. 

“I can update you on the case whenever you want,” Harry tried.

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest in some way?” Draco said.

“I don’t really care about ministry rules,” Harry said. “I can steal you loads of office supplies, just name it.”

That got Draco to breathe out a laugh. Harry felt like he could float from it, and it rapidly burst when Draco’s smile capsized. His eyes widened as if he was in shock, and frowned as if he was disgusted. And he was shaking his head all the while.

“What am I doing?” Draco said. “Oh, god, god, how could I? Scorpius is — and I’m — what am I _doing_?”

The fight Harry had been anticipating finally came unexpectedly. Draco rounded on him and slapped him across the face. Hard enough that Harry’s neck made a sound. Harry gasped, whipping back to stare at Draco.

“How,” Draco said. “How — _dare_ you.”

Then he stormed out of the front door.

•················•·················•

“Why is Albus friends with Scorpius Malfoy?”

“Beats me,” Harry said. 

“I can’t believe my nephew is friends with a Malfoy!” Ron said.

“Yes, we heard you the first time,” Ginny said. “Merlin, sometimes I wish I could divorce you.”

Ron glared at her. Ginny turned to Harry, “Too soon?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, confused. 

“I know you are, I meant too soon for him?” Ginny lifted her chin at Ron.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Harry said as Ron stomped away. 

“Oh no,” Hermione said. “I’m going to make sure he isn’t going to interrogate Albus.”

“He wouldn’t do that in front of Malfoy junior!” Ginny said. Hermione gave her a look. Ginny groaned. “Ugh, fine, go!”

Ginny and Harry remained on the back porch, looking out at their family. And Scorpius Malfoy.

When Ginny received Albus’ letter asking if his friend could come along to Sunday brunch during the Easter holiday, she said yes. Then later when she Flooed to tell Harry about it, Harry asked _who’s the friend?_ Ginny replied _does it matter?_

Imagine the heart attack Harry had when he saw a woman dropping off what could only be described as a miniature, wavy-haired Draco Malfoy at Ginny’s flat, and how Albus, who essentially was a miniature Harry, came screaming and hurtling towards the boy before crashing together in a tangle of laughter and gibberish. 

The woman was looking at the scene happily. As opposed to Harry’s undignified gaping. “Scorpius,” she said. “I’m so glad you made such a good friend.”

“Mum,” Scorpius (what a _ridiculous_ name, Harry thought, now knowing without a doubt that this was Malfoy’s son) said. “This is Albus.”

Scorpius’ mother bent slightly to shake Albus’ hand and introduce herself. Then Albus was tugging on Harry and Ginny’s hands then there was a flurry of introduction. When Astoria shook Harry’s hand she looked like she was holding back laughter, which wasn’t usually how people acted upon meeting Harry for the first time. Of course Malfoy’s wife would do that.

Somehow Malfoy kept his marriage working while Harry’s suffered a divorce. Harry shook himself out of it. He didn’t think about it much anymore, but with Draco Malfoy now lodged back into his mind, he couldn’t help but compare. 

Scorpius was perfectly lovely. He greeted everyone politely and took their shock in stride, even Ron’s poorly hidden sputters. Mrs. Weasley didn’t seem to realize there was a Malfoy in her house until all the kids went to the backyard and the dining table erupted into chaos did she exclaim, after hearing everyone’s chattering, “That’s Lucius Malfoy’s grandson?”

“No, mum,” Ron said. “That’s _Draco Malfoy’_ s son.” 

Then they all went outside, not without the mindset of going to see lions tearing a sheep apart. Instead, they saw Scorpius Malfoy entertaining all the younger children (and Albus) with stories while Rose looked at him with suspicion and James playing on his phone. 

“I’ve never seen them so fascinated in something before,” Bill said.

“Dear Merlin,” Mr. Weasley said. 

“Who wants pie?” Mrs. Weasley said nervously. 

So it continued. Scorpius stuck by Albus the whole time, and when James made fun of Albus for not wanting to play Quidditch with everyone, Scorpius said, “That’s not very nice.” Then he kept Albus company even though Harry could tell he wanted to play.

When Harry sat down next to Mr. Weasley for a break from throwing dangerous sports balls at teenagers, his ex-father-in-law was working on a rusty coffee machine. 

“I’m trying to get it to make a cup of coffee,” he explained to Harry. “But it seemed to be doing a lot of nothing.”

Harry had no advice to offer when he mostly used magic or a coffee shop to get coffee. Not long after, Scorpius wandered over with Albus and asked if Mr. Weasley needed help.

“Oh,” Mr. Weasley sounded extremely surprised. “Of course.”

“You see, it’s clogged,” Scorpius pointed at a tube. “I’m not sure what kind of tools you need to unclog it, but I’m sure there’s a spell for it?”

“You are quite right, young man,” Mr. Weasley said. The clogged tube was unclogged in an instant and the machine was soon producing a dubious smelling cup of coffee. “How did you know what the problem is, Scorpius?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“My friend’s mum’s coffee maker is always doing this,” Scorpius replied.

“Their mum doesn’t like to use magic for coffee?” Harry asked, because some people he knew insisted that magic made coffee taste odd.

“Well,” Scorpius said. “No, not friends from Hogwarts. My friend from my muggle school before Hogwarts.”

Even though Harry wanted to yelp, “What?” He was so shocked he didn’t say anything until Mr. Weasley also recovered from it. By then Scorpius was long gone with Albus. 

“I can’t believe that’s a Malfoy!” Mr. Weasley said.

“Must be the mum’s influence,” Harry said.

* * *

Albus’ letters continued to be filled with mostly Scorpius, and that would've worried Harry if he didn’t know his youngest son was having a hard time in school for being sorted snake, and he was glad that Albus had support. It sounded like Scorpius was a bundle of sunshine and tranquility while still being a “geek” (Albus said it was Scorpius’ own words), and that made Albus’ school life a lot easier. Though if Harry’s son was having issues in school for being in Slytherin then he had trouble believing _Malfoy’s son_ was coasting through Hogwarts like a vacation. Then again, Harry understood that if you always have someone to partner up in classes it took away maybe ninety percent of pressure.

“I’m worried they might get it trouble,” Harry said on his weekly lunch with Ginny when she was in London. Monthly if she was traveling with her team. Harry knew the divorce was jarring for most of their family (and the English magical society) but they had been apart for years now. While apart they still had lunches and outings with the kids, and after the divorce, the lunches and outing remained the same. When they broke the news to their children, James had said, “I didn’t think of you guys as married for a long time.” And that had hurt both Harry and Ginny, until they realized James hadn’t meant it as an insult. 

“What kind of troubles?” Ginny said while skimming the menu. “Playing Gobstones in the library or Harry Potter scale trouble, like stealing a time-turner or something?”

“Why would they need a time-turner? They’re eleven.”

“It’s a Potter and Malfoy combo, The most ridiculous thing they could do is steal a time-turner, and I don’t know, travel twenty-six years back.”

“Oh, god,” Harry said, now honestly worried, because it sounded like something he would have done.

Ginny kicked him in the shin. “Don’t freak out.”

Harry did freak out, and that night he wrote a very long and rambling letter to Albus telling him to please stay away from time-turners. Albus only replied with a hasty note that said “What???” on it. Shortly after, Harry received a longer note from Scorpius that said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Potter, I went to the library and looked up records for time-turners. So far only one still exists, and it’s in the Museum of Magical Artifacts in Nigeria and it only works on birds. So I’m sure Albus will be safe from time-turning related incidents. Have a great day, Scorpius Malfoy.”

Harry showed the letter to Hermione and her eyebrows shot up. Ron groaned and said, “Oh, no. There’s two of them.” He sounded rueful. “And I told Rose to beat Scorpius.”

“ _What_?” both Hermione and Harry shouted.

“In exams!” Ron yelped. Hermione huffed and Harry willed his shaking heart to slow down, dispelling the image of Malfoy confronting them about Rose Granger-Weasley beating up his son in school.

Then he groaned, thinking how furious Malfoy would be when he found out his son was losing to a Weasley at exams. 

But Malfoy didn’t confront Harry, nor did he send any letters when Rose came out as first in their class and Scorpius second at the end of the school year. Hermione was exasperated. 

“Why would he send _you_ letters about my daughter besting Scorpius in school?”

Harry bristled. “Well!” he said. “Well, it’s Malfoy! That’s just what he does!”

“And he has gone on trial and did three-year community service and apologized to everyone and started a family and got a job in the best researching institution in Britain since then.” Hermione slapped him lightly on the arm. “I think he might have gotten other hobbies than annoying you by now.”

“Obviously Harry hasn’t grown out of the hobby of being annoyed by Malfoy,” Ron said. 

“That’s,” Harry started, but he didn’t have a response, so he didn’t say anything.

* * *

Albus wanted Scorpius to visit them during the summer as well. Harry was more hesitant this time, since it would be at Grimmauld Place, and he would be the only adult present, and he was nervous about spending time with Scorpius. 

“Maybe I should bake loads of cupcakes,” Harry said. “What do you think?”

“I don’t think cupcakes will distract the pointy kid from noticing you’re uncomfortable,” James said, and yowled when Lily threw a cushion at him. 

“Don’t listen to James, Dad!” Lily said. “Bake the cupcakes!”

So Harry did, and he was still wearing the apron when he answered the door, thinking it would be Astoria. Instead, he came face to face with Malfoy.

Malfoy was wearing a long, attractive traveling cloak with a hand on Scorpius’ shoulder and the other holding Scorpius’ backpack. His expression was stiff. There was a smattering of small scars on his right jaw and lower cheek and one longer one that extended from his neck until it ended at the corner of his mouth. He was taller. His hair was loose and swept across his forehead, cut short. It still glittered in the sun like it did when they were children.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he was nervous.

“Potter,” Malfoy nodded. “Thank you for having my son,” he added. 

“Erm,” Harry replied. “That’s, er, not a problem. He’s a great kid,” he added lamely; still Scorpius beamed up at Harry and Malfoy cracked a smile.

“So is Albus, according to what I’ve heard.” Malfoy gave Scorpius his backpack and ruffled his hair, such an un-Malfoy-family gesture that for a second Harry stared. He never remembered Lucius Malfoy ever doing that. 

“Um, well,” Harry said. “Do you . . . want to have some tea?”

Thankfully Malfoy understood the concept of polite small-talk and replied, “No, thank you. I have prior appointments. I’ll come by to pick Scorpius up at five.” Malfoy then bent down, a movement so similar to Astoria all those months ago, and dropped a kiss on Scorpius’ forehead. Scorpius blushed and glanced at Harry from the corner of his eyes, slightly embarrassed but giving his father a toothy-grin nonetheless. 

Harry’s heart clenched at the affection Malfoy blatantly displayed, something Harry had trouble doing sometimes because he was afraid he would overdo it or do it wrong, and he wondered when was the last time he kissed his children on the forehead.

“Go on then.” Malfoy gave Scorpius a push and Harry stepped aside, letting the boy rush past him with a laugh. Malfoy glanced at Harry and bid him farewell.

* * *

The first time Harry dropped Albus off at Malfoy’s, he was enormously glad that his destination wasn’t Malfoy Manor. Malfoy’s place was a two-story house with warm red bricks covered in vines, and the door was an unexpected dark green. A blue bicycle lay on the grass outside the house. And — Harry double glanced in surprise, a widow’s walk at the top of the house. 

Albus caught him looking and said, “Scorpius’ dad takes him out there to stargaze a lot.”

“Wow,” Harry said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

Malfoy greeted them with Scorpius and a little girl by his side. Scorpius introduced her to Albus. 

“Alice,” he said. “My friend from my old school.”

Albus and Alice regarded each other silently. While oddly, Malfoy looked nervous between them. In the end, Alice declared that Albus could play video games with them and Albus said, “Huh?” while being dragged inside by both Alice and Scorpius. 

Malfoy let out a breath.

“What?” Harry said.

Malfoy gave Harry a look, as if to say, “why would I tell you?” 

“Nothing,” he said instead.

“Right,” Harry said. “I’ll come by at five.”

“Okay,” Malfoy said.

“Right,” Harry said again, then walked quickly away.

At five, Harry was once again knocking on Malfoy’s green door. Malfoy let him in, looking discreetly overwrought. 

“Albus isn’t ready yet,” he said stiffly. Harry shrugged, and Malfoy added, “I’ll have him ready in the future.”

The reason for Malfoy’s stress became clear to Harry with a squeeze to his chest. “It’s fine,” he reassured hurriedly. “He never is. Let’s face it, not everyone could be like Scorpius.”

It worked: Malfoy’s shoulder relaxed and he smiled a little at that. Harry chewed on his own lips, his inside fluttering uncomfortably.

Alice came up behind Malfoy and tapped him lightly, handing him a telephone. Harry’s eyebrows went up and Malfoy ignored him.

“Hello, Ms. Davies? Yes, of course she can. It’s really not a problem.” Albus and Scorpius came up next to Alice and stared at Malfoy avidly. It was an oddly cute sight. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice his little shadows as he continued to talk on the phone, “Yes, I remember. No seafood or red meat. No kiwis. Not too many tomatoes. Yes. No problem. Goodbye.” He hung up and looked at Alice. “Your mother said yes.”

She and Scorpius cheered and Albus whirled around to look at Harry with huge, pleading eyes. “Can I stay for dinner, too? Please, Dad!”

“Uh,” Harry panicked. “Well, sure. I mean, only if Malfoy — if Mr. Malfoy doesn’t mind.”

Malfoy looked at Albus. “Of course.” 

Now the cheering got louder and Harry saw Malfoy flicked a discreet silencing charm at the stairway leading upstairs. Harry wondered if this meant he was supposed to head home and come back later.

“Well?” Malfoy asked.

Harry snapped back to reality. “What?”

Malfoy’s expression shuttered slightly. “I asked if you wanted to stay for dinner as well, since you’re here and all.”

“Oh,” Harry stuttered. James already said he wasn’t going to be home for dinner and Lily was hanging out with Rose at Hermione and Ron’s. It made sense to stay, if they were anyone else. But still, Harry found himself saying, “Yes.”

“Great,” Malfoy said, not sounding like he meant it. “Well, it’s ready. Do you want to take off your coat?”

“Right,” Harry said, just going along with the motion because if he stopped to think about all this he might end up bolting out of the door. 

The kids wanted to eat in front of the TV, to which Malfoy said, “Only if you eat double the portion of greens.” And since the food was delicious, none of them minded. 

Harry thought he would have to eat with Malfoy alone at the dining table. But Malfoy made a plate of everything and cut it all to bite-size pieces, apologized to Harry, told him to start and brought the plate upstairs. By the time he came down Harry had finished and started on the dishes.

Malfoy’s face when he came in and saw the dishes washing themselves in the sink was priceless, but Harry at the time didn’t understand why Malfoy was sputtering and looking from the door to the TV room back to the kitchen in a panic. He shut the door and locked it.

“What?” Harry wasn’t sure if he had been this often confused since Hermione stopped using him as a soundboard for her job. 

“You can’t use magic so blatantly when a muggle is in the house!” Malfoy hissed. “I thought you were an Auror!”

“Who?” Harry asked, then, “Oh my god, is Alice a muggle?”

“Yes!” Malfoy said furiously. “Scorpius said she was a friend from his _old school_.”

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, not ready to admit he didn’t remember much because he had been nervous about coming here. 

“Is that all?” Malfoy sniped. “For fuck’s sake, Potter!”

“What is the big deal?” Harry said, and he should be glad to be back on familiar territory with Malfoy, but he really wasn’t. “She didn’t see!”

“I could have gotten in trouble with the DMLE for that, is what!” Malfoy snapped.

“We don’t arrest people for this,” Harry said, and Malfoy scoffed at the “we”.

“I am not held to the same standard as ‘people’,” Malfoy said. “I can’t— I need to take care of Scorpius, and Astoria, and I need to be unbothered to be able to — to — ”

“Hey,” Harry stepped closer, placing a hand on Malfoy’s shaking one. “Hey, it’s okay. Nothing is going to happen to you with the DMLE. Breathe.”

Malfoy sucked in a shaky breath and pulled his hand away. “My apologies.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. He pulled his hand back as well and hid it behind his back to stretch out his fingers repeatedly. “Is Astoria okay?” 

Malfoy gave him a baleful look that died off before it fully formed between his brows. “She’s sick,” he answered stiffly.

Harry straightened. “Is she okay?”

“No,” Malfoy said. “And no, there isn’t anything you can do.”

Harry’s mouth snapped shut, flushed. 

Malfoy sighed, long. “We’ve known for a long time that it would happen. It’s a blood curse in her family. She’s lucky to have lived this long.”

Chest squeezing, Harry said, “Oh my god.” He was used to handling death with strangers. Even with deaths of people he knew. But with Malfoy’s, Harry had no clue what to do with the onslaught of emotions in him. “Does Scorpius know?”

Malfoy nodded. “We told him a long time ago. He was very upset for a while, then he got used to the idea, but I think he just stopped thinking about it. Now I’m not sure he knows how to process the idea that his mother is getting sicker every day. I try to have him spend time with his friends when Astoria has to rest . . .”

And Harry recalled the careful way Malfoy looked at Albus and Alice today. Harry could imagine now what went on in Malfoy’s head: Albus and Alice not getting along, Scorpius caught in the middle and maybe losing one or both friends, unlikely, but worst-case scenario. And Harry understood thinking about unlikely worst-case scenarios.

“Being a father changed you,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s smile was resigned. “I suppose so.”

Harry didn’t mean to imply Malfoy suddenly became a good person on the day Scorpius was born. Harry knew Malfoy worked for it, though he didn’t know how to say he didn’t mean it like that.

“What about your mother?” Harry asked. “Could she come and help you?”

Malfoy closed his eyes briefly before talking, “She passed away a few years ago.” 

“Oh, god.” Now Harry really wished someone could come and finish what Voldemort started. “I’m so sorry — I didn’t know, and, ugh, I — ”

“It’s fine, Potter,” Malfoy was looking at him with a half-smile now. “I know you didn’t mean any of it.”

“Still,” Harry mumbled. 

“I’ll be fine,” Malfoy said with a sigh and still that half-smile. “I have Scorpius.”

•················•·················•

“I need everything we have on the case,” Harry said.

“Auror Potter,” The Junior Auror said timidly. “We thought you went to see Draco Malfoy, it’s eleven — ”

“Do I look like I fucking care what time it is?” Harry said. He could feel the unfamiliar acerbity in his tone but he couldn’t stop it from seeping in every word. “I want this killer’s head on a platter.”

* * *

These were the facts that the DMLE knew:

  * Scorpius Malfoy was in charge of the costumes for the Hogwarts magical & muggle drama club. On April 18th, the first day of school after the Easter Holiday, the victim went to Hogsmeade alone to pick up the club’s order of clothing at Gladrags Wizardwear. The owner said he never showed at five o’clock. He was last seen walking past Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 


  * His friends thought nothing of it when the victim didn’t show up for dinner; they said it was normal when club performance drew near. Victim’s best friend A. Potter said he saved a plate of dinner for the victim.


  * Potter reported the missing to the Head of Slytherin at curfew (10 p.m.)


  * Staff was called to search the grounds. The body was found by R. Hagrid at 1 a.m. in The Quad (Paved Courtyard). The Talking Gargoyle that resided in the Paved Courtyard had been covered by a soundproof cloth from behind. It did not see who did it and did not know when it happened, only that it was dark. 


  * According to the new gatekeeper, P. Smith, he was summoned to the gate at 12 a.m. when the ward alerted him that someone was there.


  * The person said they were from Gladrags Wizardwear, there to deliver some overdue orders for the drama club. He showed the gatekeeper a parchment that belonged to the victim (order receipt for the costumes) The gatekeeper let them in, then out again at 12:30 a.m.


  * After viewing the gatekeeper’s pensive memory, it was concluded that the person was using Polyjuice. They were carrying a case. Possibly with an Undetectable Extension Charm. It is assumed that the victim’s body was in the case. 



The autopsy: 

  * The body showed no signs of assault.


  * No traces of fingerprints.


  * No external or internal injuries.


  * No cause of death. 



The evidence on the scene:

  * The piece of parchment. Standard paper, standard ink.


  * The heavy dew washed away most tangible evidence.


  * The victim’s wand showed no sign of offensive or defensive spell exchanged.



Additional note: 

Auror Potter had been assigned to ask the father of the deceased to identify the body.

* * *

Draco stared long and hard at the file in his hand. Harry knew inside was filled with pictures of Scorpius lying on the examination table, cleaned up and eyes closed. Draco knew it too, that was why he hadn’t made any move to open it yet, ten minutes after Harry had stepped into his room in The Berkeleys and told him what he was here for. To be honest, Harry was surprised he was even let in after Draco realized what was in the file.

Neither of them said a word, even as Draco pointed at a seat and poured Harry a cup of tea. Then he sat down across from Harry and stared at the file until now.

Harry fidgeted with his cup. It was small and ridiculously shallow. They looked like those Wedgwood cups that Hermione bought Mrs. Weasley for her birthday years back. The cup Draco was using had patterns of chrysanthemums and viper’s bugloss painted on the white porcelain. 

Draco was staying at one of the biggest rooms in the hotel, with drawing-rooms, a study, bedrooms, and a balcony clearly meant for more than one person. Completely muggle, so none of the stuff in here was reinforced to withstand magic. Which led Harry to wonder if Draco was using magic at all, or if he wasn’t using any of the appliances enough to care if they broke from the usage of magic.

Draco looked very pale in his white shirt and high-waisted grey slacks. In the room that was filled with pale golds and whites, Draco looked as if he could drown in it. Like if Harry looked away and looked back he wouldn’t be able to find Draco again.

“Harry,” Draco said, eyes still on the file.

“Yes?” 

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior last time,” Draco looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, and Harry was irrationally angry at everything because it had been a long time since he’d seen Draco’s eyes looked so dull. “I shouldn’t have slapped you. You were only trying to help.”

“You had a good reason to,” Harry said. 

“No, I didn’t,” Draco said, flipped open the file, and Harry couldn’t have continued to contradict Draco then.

Draco stared at the pictures for long minutes, fingers stiff where they held them. Then he slammed the file shut and placed it on the small table between them. Picked up his now cold cup of tea and said, in a small voice, “That’s Scorpius.”

Harry nodded. It was just a cruel protocol, anyway.

“In my haste I forgot to ask,” Draco said, still just holding the cup of tea. “What is the cause of death?”

Harry took a deep breath. This was where he expected most yelling to come from, according to his previous experiences with cases that barely had any leads. “The coroners are still running tests, but they couldn’t determine the COD from the initial autopsy.”

Draco nodded silently.

Then, “He wasn’t . . .” Draco faltered, looking miserable. “He wasn’t assaulted, was he?”

“No,” Harry quickly said. “Not at all. Thank god. There wasn’t a scratch on him.”

“No wounds?” Draco asked.

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to know anything else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“But I suppose let me know if there’s any major development.”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

When Harry got home that night he wished he could stop Draco’s hurting with a spell. When he woke up the next morning, Scorpius’ face was on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.

* * *

Draco walked into the British Magical Research Academy and didn’t falter when everyone’s eyes snapped over to look at him. He just kept walking until he reached his office and started spelling every personal belonging into his briefcase. Most of them were books, then pens, then pictures of his family. Draco _Scourgified_ every surface of his office and walked out, turned left, and head straight to his boss’s office.

But before he could make it, someone stopped him. Draco turned around to see one of his colleagues holding onto Draco’s elbow.

She dropped her hands and stuttered, “Draco, we, I just wanted to say. We’re really sorry.”

This was the first time she called him by his first name. No one ever called him by name there. Draco looked past her and saw most of the people from his department standing at the door to their offices, looking at him. Draco couldn’t even tell what their expression meant. They certainly weren’t gleeful or indifferent like when Astoria passed away. And Draco knew it was only because they knew from the paper this morning, that at the time of Scorpius’ death, Draco had been here with them, catching up on the deadline to put their latest findings in the monthly periodical. If they didn’t know, they probably would have asked him if he had killed his son like they asked if he had married Astoria because he knew she would die after giving him a child and before she spent all his money.

Draco honestly didn’t know, but he thanked god, thanked anyone, that none of his colleagues said anything this time because last time, Draco could leave work and hold Scorpius in his arms as they both cried. Even if it was at the expense of having Scorpius’ tragedy splashed across every newspaper in Wizarding England. Draco could deal with that later . . . 

Draco nodded. “Thank you,” he said. And he meant it.

Alexandra didn’t look up at Draco when he stepped into her office and shut the door behind him. Though she did offer, “Malfoy, I heard about the news. I’m sorry for your loss. If you need some time off, just say it. Take as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Draco said politely. “I just came in to tell you that I’m resigning.” 

Alexandra looked up, startled. “What?” she exclaimed. “I understand you need time — the ministry allows three to five days of bereavement leave. But I meant it when I say take as long as you need, hell, you can have three months if you want.” She took on an apprehensive look. “Well, I hope you don’t take three months off. You’re our best researcher here.”

“Thank you,” Draco said again. “But I don’t think three months will be enough as well.” Then he turned around and left.

* * *

Harry stepped into the Burrow and Mrs. Weasley came running from the kitchen, and as soon as she saw Harry she burst into tears. 

“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley said. Harry rushed over and hugged her. She buried her face in Harry’s chest and sobbed. “Please tell me this is the Prophet making up awful things to sell their papers again!”

“I’m sorry, Molly,” Harry said, miserable. His rage at the papers was still there, but he’d deal with it when he got back to the Ministry and ripped whoever leaked the information a new one. 

“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley pulled back suddenly and wailed into her handkerchief. “Scorpius, he’s only a boy!”

Harry gently took Mrs. Weasley by the shoulder and sat her down. When he came back with two cups of tea, Mrs. Weasley’s sobs had died down to sniffles. She looked at Harry with wide, watery eyes. 

“Thank you, dear,” she said. “Do you need anything? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I wanted to see how you were,” Harry said. “I didn’t want you to be alone in the house after seeing the paper today.”

“Rubbish! The lot of them!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “Implying Draco — had something to do with it! After his wife and mother! I can’t believe them! Harry, the Auror’s aren’t going to investigate Draco, are you? He shouldn’t go through that!”

“No, don’t worry, Molly,” Harry reassured. “He has an alibi. He was at work.”

“An alibi?!” Mrs. Weasley jumped from the chair. “The department actually saw him as a suspect?! Harry, how could you let them!”

“There are too many murder cases with parents as the killer to rule him out without investigating, Molly.”

Mrs. Weasley dropped back into the chair and wiped her eyes.

The Floo flared and George stepped out. He looked relieved to see Harry there. 

“Thank Merlin,” he said. “I see you were worried about Mum too, yeah?”

Harry nodded, and moved so George could sit down. “Ron wanted to come too,” he said. “But the shop needed him.”

“You boys,” Mrs. Weasley laughed wetly. “I’m fine!”

“Don’t argue with us on this, Mum,” George turned to Harry. “I know I’m not supposed to ask, but please tell me you have the killer?”

Harry’s lips thinned. “It’s looking more and more like a cold case.”

Both Mrs. Weasley and George let out a deep sigh. 

“Never thought I would be concerned about Malfoy,” George said. “But is he okay?”

“He’s . . . ” Harry hesitated, thinking about finding Draco in the middle of broken bottles and glasses, and about making Draco smile and the way he broke down and slapped Harry. The way Draco looked, blank and lifeless in his big hotel room. “I’m not sure I should say.”

“Tell him he’s welcome here anytime,” Mrs. Weasley said sadly.

Harry didn’t think Draco would think he had any reason to come back here anymore. Harry looked to the back porch, where Draco would talk with him as their kids went off doing whatever teenagers do. And kept talking when they moved to take the kids home, and still when they gave into impromptu sleepovers far too easily.

“I will,” Harry said. “I should get back.”

George said, “Ron and Hermione are coming here for dinner tonight. Bill might come too.” He looked at Harry. “You coming?”

Harry, now by the fireplace, thought about Draco going back to his rented room by himself, said, “Maybe another time.”

•················•·················•

Draco was wearing a white fur-lined cloak when Harry opened the door. Scorpius at his side, head hung low. 

“Hi,” Harry said. Then stepped aside for them to come in. Draco’s face was greyer than his cloak. Everything about him looked blank and open. 

“I was wondering if Scorpios could stay with you for a day?” Draco said. “I need to go take care of things and I don’t want him to be alone. I . . . I know Albus is with you right now, and I thought a friend might be good for him.”

Albus, who was lurking in the hallway, badly concealed, didn’t need to be told twice, he raced forward and swung Scorpius into a hug.

Draco’s eyes fluttered and he looked to Harry, now a little apprehensive. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous. I could take Scorpius to Alice if now is inconvenient for you.”

“Of course not,” Harry looked at Draco. “What about you?”

Draco was looking at Scorpius. “Well, I . . .”

“If you want you can come by later,” Harry said. “He needs his father too.”

Draco swallowed hard, and nodded.

When Draco knocked on the door once more, hours later, the boys were sleeping in the living room. Phones off. TV muted. Harry led Draco into the kitchen with a pot of tea ready. Draco had shed his cloak, and on the inside he was wearing all black robes. Ones that once made Fleur admit she thought Draco was a little handsome. 

Once, Scorpius and Albus had gone off on a trail and were running late, Mrs. Weasley invited Draco in to wait. Harry stood in the doorway listening to their stilted conversation. Mrs. Weasley said _I heard about your mother, I’m very sorry._ Draco replied _Thank you._ Then Draco also thanked Mrs. Weasley for making Scorpius feel so at home every time, and then they got to talking about parenting, so by the time the boys got home Mrs. Weasley had thought Draco “had become a fine young father” since most of the people who married into the Weasley never asked Molly about parenting.

And as Astoria got sicker, Scorpius and Draco’s present was a rare enough sight that Mrs. Weasley’s heart grew fonder. And the Weasleys liked Draco enough to stop giving Harry looks when he talked about him and also started saying things themselves like, _He’s quite clever_ or _Is Malfoy coming? I want to talk about that book he recommended._

Harry’s thoughts drifted back to the present. Draco sat in Harry’s kitchen. Scorpius slept against Albus in the living room. They were now without a wife and a mother.

Harry, heart clenching, and not knowing what to say even though he had been thinking about it all afternoon, said, “That’s a nice cloak.”

Draco looked up. His eyes were dried and red with irritation. Like Draco had been rubbing them instead of crying. “It was Astoria’s,” he said.

“Oh,” Harry replied, genuinely surprised. 

“She gave it to me a long time ago, said it drowned her, that I’m tall enough to lift it up.”

“There’s a pair of pink socks that belonged to Ginny that I really liked,” Harry said, desperate. “So she gave them to me.”

“So you understand,” Draco said with a twitch to his lips.

They were quiet for a bit after that.

“We weren’t in love,” Draco said after a few minutes.

Harry looked up, startled. 

“We didn’t . . . get married because we were in love. We got married because at the time we thought we had to and we were good friends.” Draco was looking into his cup of tea. “I knew, with the way I was, I couldn’t have made my mother happy. And I always thought I was lily-livered, trapping a woman into a loveless marriage because I didn’t want to disappoint my family, but Astoria had to get married. Her family was bankrupted and couldn’t support their two daughters; it never occurred to them that they could probably support themselves. Astoria was beautiful and intelligent, but no one wanted to marry her because of the blood curse. And she was never interested in — love, as well, so really, we were perfect for each other. It was lucky that we got to be best friends, and partners, along the way.”

Harry gripped his mug. Draco continued, “I know what you want to say, Potter. That I didn’t have to get married for my family. But I don’t regret it. I’m grateful my mother got to know I married and was on my way with a child before she died. And I did love Astoria. And I couldn’t imagine a life without Scorpius.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Harry said. “I didn’t even think it.”

“Oh,” Draco said. 

“I don’t understand what you meant by the way you were couldn’t make your mother happy.”

“Oh,” Draco said again. “I’m gay, Potter.”

“Er,” Harry said. “I didn’t know.”

“Well.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to . . . make you feel like you had to tell me, or distract you from . . . ”

“You’re fine, Potter. Don’t worry about it.” Draco took a sip of his tea. Sighed. “She didn’t even get to see Scorpius going into third-year,” Draco said, muted. “He wanted to start up clubs in Hogwarts, like the ones in his old school. She will never read his letters when he succeeds.” 

Draco didn’t cry. Harry remembered him saying they knew for a while, and if that meant Draco had been crying for a long time already.

Harry sat his tea down, and listened to Draco talk.

Harry asked if he could go and pay his respects. Draco said yes.

Scorpius asked if Albus would go with him. Albus said yes.

There weren’t many people: Astoria’s parents died after the war. Her sister, a Slytherin Harry remembered seeing but not her name or anything else, talked to Draco a bit but left before the ceremony was over, probably because of the arrival of Scorpius’ muggle friends. Several neighbors came as well. Some witches and wizards, probably friends from Hogwarts, gaped at the muggles standing around Draco and Scorpius until Harry’s glare sent them scampering.

It was quick. Draco invited anyone who wanted to say anything to do so. Alice’s mother did. An elderly woman who took walks with Astoria did. Draco didn’t, but he held Scorpius’ hand as his son sobbed through his goodbyes. 

The ceremony was non-magical, so the muggles who came could stay. Albus stood by Scorpius the whole time. With his head lowered, Scorpius looked so tiny. Albus almost loomed, having gotten the height Harry would have without the cupboard. But Albus folded himself around Scorpius.

Harry, next to a quiet Draco, pressed his arm against Draco’s. Draco mouthed Astoria’s name silently, a form of long pain with no tears.

* * *

“How’s work?”

“It’s fine,” Draco said as he looked at the menu. “Good grief, do they really serve scrambled eggs at two in the afternoon?”

“It’s American,” Harry replied. “You’re the one that walked in.”

“For the coffee,” Draco mumbled. 

Harry browsed through the menu himself even though he knew he would order the pancakes, thinking maybe this was a bad idea. But Harry had seen Draco waiting in line and asked “Their food is good, do you want to have lunch together?” and Draco said, “It’s not lunchtime.” But followed Harry anyway.

Then Draco said, “Oh! Corned beef hash!” in a tone that could only be described as gleeful and Harry had to hide his grin behind his menu.

After the orders were taken and coffee served, Harry fidgeted in his seat, wondering if he should ask after Draco and Scorpius. Ended up adding sugar to his coffee and stirring it intently instead.

“Go on,” Draco said.

Harry’s head snapped up. “Huh?”

“I can tell you are bursting from being unable to ask about someone’s wellbeing.”

“I am not,” Harry said with a frown. “That’s not why I want to ask, anyway.”

“Because you aren’t noble at heart?” Draco took a sip of coffee. “Call the _Daily Prophet_ , we have a scandal on hand.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Shut it.” 

Draco smiled. “Scorpius is well. He’s . . . made peace with it, which is all I can ask of him. The Headmistress has kindly given him permission to use one of the staff Floos. So far he’s called once.”

“Was he okay?”

“He wanted to know if he left one of his essays at home and couldn’t wait for the owl.”

“That’s good,” Harry said, then hurriedly added because Draco’s lips pinched. “Because he’s vulnerable right now. Small things can set people off when they’re stressed or grieving. I’ve seen Hermione have a panic attack because she couldn’t find one of her books.”

“Oh,” Draco’s eyebrows were up. “Thank you. That’s what I thought too. I thought you were going to dismiss him.”

“I would never,” Harry said hotly.

Draco smiled into his coffee, and murmured, “Noble heart.”

* * *

“Why do you have dead butterflies in your house?” Harry asked.

Draco came over to look at what Harry was pointing at. “It came with the house,” Draco said.

“That’s,” Harry tried to think of a word that wasn’t as childish as “gross”, and what came out was, “Ew.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s gross!” Harry said anyway. “It’s like if people put dead — dead deers or dogs in their house or something.” A pause, then Harry gasped, turned to Draco in distress, “Oh my god! People _do_ do that!”

“Humans are ew,” Draco said seriously. Harry punched him lightly on the shoulder and Draco sniggered. 

The Floo flared. Scorpius and Albus face-planted right by their fathers’ feet. Albus cackled, laying on top of Scorpius. His mouth snapped shut when he saw Harry.

Harry crossed his arms. “Surprised?”

“Dad!” Albus said, scrambling up, pressing Scorpius down in the process. The boy let out a startled “Oof!” as he hit the floor again. “I was going to go straight home after this!” Albus said.

“Yeah right,” Harry said. “You really thought you would get away with pretending to fall asleep and stay over for this long without me knowing?”

Albus pouted. “How long have you known?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “ _Since the first time!_ Draco told me.”

“So you _didn’t_ figure out on your own,” Albus said. “You totally wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for Mr. Malfoy!”

“I think your father would figure out after the fifth time you ‘fell asleep’,” Draco said dryly.

“You don’t understand, Mr. Malfoy,” Albus said. “He didn’t notice that James had been throwing a party every year on Ganesh Chaturthi until last year, when Lily told on James!”

“Alright!” Harry said, blushing furiously. Scorpius was laughing into his hands, but at least he had the decency to pretend he wasn’t, unlike Draco, who was laughing openly. “Your mother wants you all home on time today so I’m here to make sure of that. Let’s go.”

“Dad!” Albus whined. 

“ _Albus_!” Harry mock-whined back. “Chop-chop.”

Harry said goodbye to Draco and Scorpius at the door. Draco was grinning. Harry was happy to see it back.

* * *

Harry went back to Draco’s house to waylay Albus several more times, but he was pretty sure the boys had been intentionally running late. Draco had sighed and said, “ _Of course_ they are, Potter.” 

Harry started to make lunch arrangements with Draco too. Getting stuck in the underground Ministry had done a number on Harry’s body and he tried to get out whenever he could. The British Magical Research Academy where Draco worked was above ground (lucky bastard) so Harry begged Draco to take his lunch with him so he could go up and get some sun.

“There’s no law against you having lunch by yourself,” Draco said.

“Yeah, but I like eating with people.”

“Weasley isn’t available?”

“We have dinner together most of the week,” Harry said. “I’d like to use my time to see other friends, too.”

Draco had sputtered and blushed at that. Insisting that going to each other’s house to pick up their kid hardly counted as _friends_. Harry had shrugged and invited Draco to his New Year’s party. Because friends invite each other to parties.

“Drunk Gryffindors?” Draco scoffed. “No, thank you.”

“You can take pictures.”

“That’s more like it.”

* * *

Harry didn’t feel like Draco thought of him as a real friend until he asked Harry to accompany him to Astoria’s grave. Harry sat there with Draco as he read Scorpius’ letters to Astoria. Harry visited graves often. He knew grief came back in cemeteries. And being able to be there for Draco when it did — Harry would do it a thousand times more.

* * *

“I think he should be mangled and buried alive and no one should be legally allowed to visit his grave.”

“Bloody hell, Draco.”

“I was just joking,” Draco said, then, “Of course people can visit his grave.”

“You want him mangled and grave-visitor-less because he tried to talk to you about American Football.”

“It was as if he was trying to kill me through sheer idiocy,” Draco sighed. His breath ruffling the fur on his cloak. “First date in decades, of course I’d get the idiot American.”

“Maybe stop hanging around Americans,” Harry snorted.

“ _They're_ hanging around _me_ ,” Draco sniped. “Because for some reason MACUSA is interested in my research.”

“Oh, poor you,” Harry cooed, opening the cafe door for them. Draco huffed and stepped through.

“If you want, I can set you up with one of my colleagues,” Harry said when they sat down. Two cups of black coffee already served, which, from previous experiences, they really didn’t need more than that. Only endless refills. “He’s smart. Good-looking, or so I’m told.”

“Auror?” Draco asked, and scrunched his nose when Harry nodded. “It’s going to take a lot more than smart and good-looking to get me to like an Auror.”

“Really?” Harry said, disappointed. He really thought Adam would be perfect for Draco. He was younger, open-minded. Loved kids. And from what Harry heard, doted on his boyfriends. After everything, Harry wanted Draco to have those. Not to be happy, because Draco was. Astoria’s passing left a scar but just a scar nonetheless. Harry knew a thing or two about scars, how they didn’t have to remind you of grief. Draco _was_ happy — he didn’t need much to be, but Harry wanted him to be more than that. Harry wanted, with a clenched heart, to see Draco filled to the brim with happiness. Harry wanted someone to want to lean in and kiss Draco. To want to spend every spare second they have with him. To appreciate the way Draco’s fingers grazed a page of a book before turning it. Or how lovely his eyes looked in the dark. Harry wanted — 

Harry jerked in his seat, staring at the puddle of hot coffee he spilled onto the table.

“Merlin, I wasn’t that funny, was I?” 

Harry looked up and stared right at a smiling Draco. 

“I know I have a knack for storytelling, but that was the most theatrical reaction I’ve gotten in ages,” Draco continued to smile, wider and wider, laying a napkin on his lap even though they were at an ’80s themed American Diner. 

“Sorry,” Harry swallowed. 

Draco laughed. “Please, I welcome theatrics.”

As Draco continued on, talking about how he’ll document his first-ever New Year surrounded by Gryffindors, Harry stared at him. Noticing the lines on his face. The pink in his ears. The slightly darker ring of eyelashes. The way his lips sloped as he talked. Harry thought about kissing him.

And it always was like this. Harry never wanted to kiss someone until it was too late for him to pull back. Just like how Harry never really understood why people waxed poetry about Adam. Why he didn’t notice Ginny until after the Department of Mysteries.

When did Draco happen, though? During one of their lunches, perhaps. When they stayed late when the boys were late. When Draco showed Harry his research and said, “I need someone with brains to listen to me for a change.” When Draco taught Rose and Lily how to make flowers bloom on their clothes. When Draco cut food into little pieces for Astoria.

But Harry knew when. It was years ago, when Draco stooped so he could press a kiss to Scorpius’ forehead

Suddenly, the image of Adam making Draco smile fuzzed. Adam melted into white noise. Draco’s face stood out vividly, like the first stroke of paint on canvas. Suddenly, from a low simmering, that urge flared almost violently. It didn’t matter to Harry who filled the white noise, only that they made Draco vivid. 

Looking at Draco, unguarded and alive, Harry wondered if he would be enough to help bring that flush to Draco’s eyes forever. The resolve, patience, innocence, zenith of loving someone, was it enough? Was it?

* * *

Two weeks had passed after Harry thought about kissing Draco and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. And it led to the first-ever actually satisfying wank in the years since his separation with Ginny. Then Harry spent a solid thirty minutes laying on his bed in the long-overdue afterglow, thinking about Draco (which was nothing new) and how he wanted to pull him into Harry’s lap so Harry could spend hours kissing him (something very new). Then Harry felt so inappropriate he took an hour-long shower.

But Draco said he was never in love with Astoria, and she wasn’t in love with him. They were partners in every way but romantic, did that make falling in love with Draco okay? Draco was already going on dates, something he revealed to Harry on one visit to Astoria’s grave. She had wanted him to date. _She always knew I was a romantic,_ Draco had said. Harry wanted Draco to have it. He didn’t know if he could give Draco that, with Harry’s awkwardness and uncertainty when it came to providing intimacy. 

Not to mention there were the boys to think about, and the mere thought of that made Harry want to drown himself in dirty, post-wank bathwater. It was immensely clear to Harry that he wouldn’t be the one for Draco. And even though he knew he would be happy if Draco found someone — it dealt a harder blow to him than he thought it ought. This was why he thought falling in love was a little like dying for him; it happened once in a while and Harry knew it wouldn’t work.

It was the same week of Harry’s nadir in the bathtub when Harry saw Draco on a date. He was strolling in Diagon Alley with Ron and Hermione. Harry craned his neck to look while trying to look like he wasn’t looking, but of course both his friends caught him and turned to look as well.

“Is that Malfoy?” Ron asked. “On a date? With a man?”

Draco was sitting on the outside of a new restaurant. He had (reluctantly) admitted that it was one of the few restaurants that would serve him. He wasn’t wearing his white cloak that day, but he looked perfect in a three-piece suit. Harry’s eyes glazed at the way the collar hugged Draco’s neck, and Draco’s eyes in the backdrop of the purple night. 

“What about it?” Hermione asked.

“Well!” Ron said. “He likes both men and women?”

“Bisexual,” both Harry and Hermione said. Hermione kissed Ron’s cheek and added, “I appreciate your effort.”

“I appreciate your effort too,” Harry said. “In the non-cheek kissing way.” 

“Fuck off,” Ron said. “There’s just too many words. Why can’t we call it ‘liking both boys and girls’ like back in our day?”

“Yes, because that’s simpler,” Harry said dryly. 

“No, from what I remember of Hogwarts, I’m pretty sure he’s just gay,” Hermione said lightly. 

“What!” Ron said. 

“Hogwarts?” Harry sputtered.

“Honestly,” Hermione’s eyes flickered to Harry. “Well, it’s not my place to say anything.”

“This is what you married me for!” Ron insisted.

“What? To tell you how everyone knew Draco Malfoy is gay?”

“What!” Both Ron and Harry said.

“Who’s everyone?” Ron demanded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Me, Ginny, Angelina, George, Bill — ”

“How does _Bill_ know?” Ron said. “He wasn’t even at Hogwarts with us!”

“He’s met Malfoy,” Hermione deadpanned. “All the staff had known as well — McGonagall told me this last time I visited. And I’m pretty sure Parkinson and Zabini know too.”

“How do you know that?” Harry said, with forced calmness. 

Hermione gave him a look. “I saw the three of them one time in school, and Zabini was holding Malfoy’s hand.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Harry said.

“When was the last time the two of you held hands casually?” Hermione asked.

“We must have,” Ron said. “Did we?” He sounded both distressed and confused.

“Why didn’t you tell us when you saw that?” Harry said, ignoring the question. 

“It wasn’t relevant to our lives,” Hermione said.

“That’s a shit reason,” Harry said, perhaps more invested than necessary. Hermione was looking at him with her problem-solving face now. Harry quickly turned on his heels and saw that Draco was looking at them.

Despite himself, a grin split Harry’s face. He waved at Draco and Draco waved back primly, with a smile, too. His date turned to look, mouth gaping when he saw it was Harry. He snapped his head back, mouth moving rapidly. Draco rolled his eyes and flipped Harry the bird.

It seemed Harry had accidentally screwed up Draco’s date. It didn’t look like Draco cared very much. 

“I still can’t believe you’re ‘active’ friends with Malfoy,” Ron said as they walked away. Harry turned his head a few times to look back at Draco.

“Isn’t it a bit too late for that, Ron?” Hermione said.

* * *

His date spend the rest of the meal talking about Harry Potter, and a part of Draco wanted to join — wanted to tell him about Harry’s inability to tell the differences between teas and how his general classifications outside of PG tips were “helps digestions” and “causes indigestions”; or how good a father Harry was despite his own insecurities; or perhaps say, “He makes me laugh even when I try not to. Especially when I couldn’t even remember what it’s like to smile — he succeeds anyway.”

But Draco thought it counted as a failed date if both parties spent most of it talking about another man, so Draco excused himself and got up to leave. At least his date’s gaze lingered on Draco as he walked away.

When he arrived home, Draco sat in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea and flipped through the photo album that had taken up residence on the coffee table since Astoria passed. Draco started to add notes just beside the photos. Things he remembered Astoria saying when it was taken, or what they had been doing. Sometimes he couldn’t remember the story behind the photos; that always made Draco go through more photos than he intended in one setting. People said time made a person forget their pain; Draco was trying very hard to document it before he did.

Right on time, the fire sparked green and Scorpius’ head appeared. Draco set aside the album and slid to his knees.

Scorpius had conflicted feelings about Draco’s dates. Even though, as soon as Scorpius learned about LGBTQ+ in his school, Draco and Astoria had sat him down and told him about their relationship (throwing in some complaints about traditional pureblood family mindset as well — mainly by Astoria). Scorpius had always been extremely empathetic. He understood his parents to the best of his abilities. Draco had told him that if he ever found someone — something Draco thought was extremely unlikely, he kept this to himself — they would never replace Astoria. 

“I would give up on romance if it meant we could have Astoria back for even a second.” Draco held Scorpius in his arms as he said this, when they came home from the funeral and his son asked _did mum mean it when she said you should finally let yourself fall in love?_

Scorpius had nodded, and he had cried, but he understood.

“How’s your first Hogsmeade weekend?” Draco asked.

“Albus and I saw George,” Scorpius replied. “He gave me loads of stuff, and even though I’m sure he’s doing it because of mum, he didn’t make me feel weird about it.”

“That tends to happen when people know how you feel,” Draco said quietly. 

“How was the date?” Scorpius asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?”

“Tell me and I’ll see.”

“All right,” Draco snorted. “He was fine, but nothing came of it. Harry passed by and suddenly he couldn’t shut up about The Chosen One.”

“Isn’t that good?” Scorpius asked. “I thought it’s a good thing to have something in common with your date.”

Draco choked. “Scorpius!”

“What, was that supposed to be a secret?” 

“Good god,” Draco wheezed. “I — well, I mean! Go do your homework!”

Scorpius burst out laughing. “Okay. I already did them, but I’ll pretend I haven’t. Talk to you soon! Look out for my letter.”

Draco was smiling when he returned to his seat and his album. It was hard — being happy after something horrible, but Draco thought despite everything, he was lucky enough to have enough to be happy anyway.

•················•·················•

Harry had intended on going back to the Ministry as he had told George and Mrs. Weasley, but the visit sat off a fresh wave of worry where it had been festering in silence before. Harry couldn’t bear the thought. He’d never actually been to Draco’s workplace before. The furthest he’d gone was the gate when he dropped Draco off after lunch. As Harry wandered in, people stopped and stared, so he just grabbed the nearest employee and asked, “Do you know where I can find Draco Malfoy?”

The man stuttered. “Malfoy?” 

Harry frowned. “Yes.”

“He — he resigned this morning.”

Harry’s grip dropped. “He resigned,” Harry said flatly. 

“Yes. A great loss, I say!”

“A great loss, because you lot didn’t get to have the pleasure of sacking him?” Harry snapped.

The man’s eyes bulged. “Mr. Potter, we would never — ”

Harry turned on his heel and strode out.

* * *

Draco was sitting on the carpeted floor when the knocking came. He had been sitting there for a long time, he thought, maybe. Or had he just returned from resigning? Draco’s muscles twitched even though he’d never felt so sickly.

Every cell in his body was a burning, boiling pain that stretched every second into decades. It was time to annihilate, a voice inside him said. To annihilate? Be annihilated? Draco couldn’t bring himself back. How was he surviving this second? There was a surfeit of his heart leftover somewhere Draco couldn’t go, far away underneath London in the DMLE morgue, and Draco would never be able to get it back. He had always known this world ate people, and Draco made peace with the thought that he would have to be devoured away bit by bit for his past mistakes. He’d tried to repent, through his actions, through the way he raised his son. He kept at it, and thought he would keep at it until the day karma removed him from this world like an anathema. He’d never thought the people around him would be the ones that got eaten while he was left behind like some sort of revolting residue.

The knocks came again. Dully. Draco thought he should get up and answer the door but he couldn’t at the moment. Whoever was at the door would just have to be patient for Draco, just a little bit.

Draco planted his palms on the carpet and tried to concentrate on the softness through his fingers. He looked around in his hotel room and tried to look for seven things that had the color green in them. A settee. The curtains. The opened letter on the table. The On button of the television remote. The plant in the corner. The star motifs on the ceiling. 

He couldn’t find one more, but Draco’s breathing had calmed and his limbs had enough strength to hold his body up. He walked to the door and opened it.

Harry stared at him with wide eyes. _Ah_ , Draco thought. _There’s seven._

“Hi,” Harry said. “I’m sorry for not . . . asking if I could come first.”

Draco leaned on the doorframe. “Have we gone back to the stage where we have to request for a visit?”

“I upset you before,” Harry mumbled.

Draco sighed. “And I apologized for it.” He stepped away from the door and made a general gesture for Harry to come in.

Harry trailed behind Draco softly. “You quit your job.”

“Yes,” Draco dropped down on the settee. “I could see I wouldn’t be of use for the foreseeable future. I didn’t want to give them any reasons.”

“It’s always better for victims of trauma to stay busy, Draco.”

“I’ll find other ways to keep busy,” Draco said. “I’ll take up gardening — you know I always said I was too busy for it. Or painting. Or maybe embroidery; it seems awfully fascinating, don’t they? The way they look nice until you turn it around to see the mess at the back. Or bird-watching. I think there are enough birds in England for me to kill some time.”

Harry looked very distressed. “Draco,” he started.

Draco drummed his fingers on the table. “Or maybe I’ll hang around pubs and see if anyone wants to fuck me, you know? I know all sorts of things go down in the bathrooms. Don’t you get it, Potter? _I don’t care_. So don’t ask me why I quit my job as if it matters now.”

Harry was up and around in an instant and Draco was in his arms. Draco didn’t want to accept it, but his arms were clutching Harry’s robe and his face was buried in it too. Draco heaved and this felt nothing like when Astoria died. This time it truly was his fault, and he had failed Astoria and Scorpius and Albus and Alice and everyone who loved Scorpius; the list went on because Scorpius was everything people talked about when they described scarce things like _kindness_ and _wonder_. And Draco missed him. He _missed_ him. Thinking about it made something in Draco break, and then he was sobbing into Harry’s chest.

“Of course you miss him,” Harry said. Droplets fell onto Draco’s hair.

“He’s dead because of me.” Sobs wracked Draco’s body and he was lightheaded from it. “He’s — dead— and everything hurts. My skin feels like there are thousands of — bugs trying to — trying to crawl out. Only my — chest. My chest doesn’t. Doesn’t hurt. My — head feels like — it will split any second — but my chest . . . I feel nothing there. It’s been dug out.”

Harry held him tighter and Draco’s body burned; he clenched back tighter. 

* * *

“Do you think he knew, Potter?” Draco’s voice was very small. Harry tore his eyes away from Draco’s hotel room because it hurt just that much more to look at Draco.

“Knew what?”

“That I love him.”

“Oh,” Harry choked, and hated himself for it. He came to Draco because Harry thought he could be the steady one for Draco. But tears welled up in his eyes so fast there wasn’t time to wipe them away. “Of course he did. He adored you. You know that.”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “I can’t seem to remember the last time I told him I loved him. I remember berating him. I remember punishing him when he threw tantrums, and grounding him when he got in trouble at school.” Draco’s eyes were glassy and scared when he removed his face from Harry’s robe and looked up. “What if that’s all he remembered of me when he died?”

“No, no, no,” Harry wanted to tell Draco to stop. Tell him to shut the fuck up because this hurt too much to even think about. And Scorpius wasn’t even his son. “No, no, don’t . . . don’t think like that.”

“I don’t know what I should do,” Draco folded into himself. His hands came up to his face. He went still. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live while knowing he’d be safe if it weren’t for me.”

Harry crumbled next to him, and it was harder not to hold Malfoy close to him. “For now,” Harry said. “You just have to survive this grief.” 

* * *

Draco was back in Grimmauld Place sooner than he thought. With everything he brought to him to the Berkeleys in a little case. Harry asked if it was charmed to extend; it wasn’t.

Pansy and Blaise’s letter was thrown in the trash and Draco borrowed Harry’s owl to send back a reply, refusing their offer. 

Harry dropped Draco off at Grimmauld Place and went to Draco’s house to pick up some clothes for him. He came back with a duffle bag and a stack of letters. Draco was sitting on the guest room bed when Harry knocked.

“Looks like your boss sent most of them,” Harry said. Draco flipped through them, tossed away the ones sent by Alexandra. Some adverts. The rest were condolence letters, from McGonagall, Mrs. Weasley, Pansy, Blaise, Luna, Granger and Weasley, even one from Rose. Draco stared at them for a long while, before stacking them neatly and put them in the bedside drawer. There were still two letters. Harry knew the handwriting.

Draco opened the one from Albus first. From what Harry could see, it was messy and short.

“He feels awful about it,” Harry said softly. “He wrote to me and Ginny that day, begging us to tell you he didn’t mean it.”

Draco caressed the words. Harry knew he’d always liked Albus, before he started liking Harry genuinely. “He’s right, though,” he said. “I’ll write back and tell him it’s okay.” Draco folded the letter back up.

“You don’t have to,” Harry said, meaning it.

Draco nodded. He clenched the last letter.

“He wrote this the day he died,” Draco said quietly. 

Harry didn’t say anything. Draco opened the letter.

A smile stretched across Draco’s face. “He wanted to know what I thought about performing _Mamma Mia!_ at Hogwarts and if he will get in trouble for suggesting it to McGonagall.”

Harry laughed, then tentatively harder when Draco peered at him with his smile still intact. “McGonagall wouldn’t have minded,” Harry said.

Draco’s eyes went back to the letter. “No, she wouldn’t have,” he said softly.

•················•·················•

“The school finally approved of a drama club,” Scorpius said. “It took me a year. A full year! I was the one that wanted to have clubs in Hogwarts, and somehow every other club got approved before Drama. The _Ice Sculpting_ Club started before Drama, for Christ’s sake!”

“Language,” Draco said.

“Professor Flitwick said I could use the piano. I was thinking of starting with _West Side Story_.”

“Isn’t that a bit much for the first play?” 

Scorpius thought about it. “Yeah,” he said. “I think you’re right. We should just start with _Cats_.”

Draco groaned as Scorpius skipped ahead of him. “This is going to be the best year yet!” he said, happily.

•················•·················•

Draco had read about this belief somewhere in Asia. That loved ones who passed away would come back on the seventh day. Draco remembered on the seventh day after Astoria died, he had lain in his bed, under the covers like a child, hoping he could see her once more. He did dream about her, and to this day he wasn’t sure if it was real or because he had thought about her very hard before falling asleep. It had been odd and spirally, just like a dream. He had dreamt of a memory, the first afternoon when they came home from dropping Scorpius off at platform 9 3/4. They were drinking tea in the quiet drawing-room.

Everything in the dream was the same as Draco remembered it, until the end. Instead of “Let’s start cursing, now that Scorpius isn’t around to hear it.” Draco had said, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Astoria in his dream had smiled, bright and fair. Her eyes on him as though gazing into stars.

It was the seventh day when Draco started staying with Harry. That night, he did the same thing, but he didn’t dream of Scorpius. He didn’t dream at all. Draco cried when he woke up on the eighth day. He had wanted to apologize. 

* * *

Draco didn’t venture out of the house much, but Harry expected that. With the papers all still reporting the case, even Harry wouldn’t advise Draco to go out. Harry found out who leaked the case to the press and fired him, also blacklisting him from ever getting a government job, and told him to stay the fuck away from Draco if he didn’t want Harry to prevent him from ever getting a job, period.

Draco stopped reading the papers, but he browsed through Grimmauld’s library and picked out books that he later would just leave on the table. He cooked all the meals, and Harry let him. He knew how dangerous it could be if you left survivors idle and feeling useless. 

Grimmauld had expanded Draco’s room on the first night so that it contained its own luxurious bathroom and a mahogany desk forever filled with fresh ink and parchments. Draco never commented on it, and it wasn’t until days later did Harry realize that Draco hadn’t noticed that they hadn’t been there before.

Grimmauld Place also strengthened the wards Harry had cast on its own. Owls from papers or unknown people flew blindly around the house, unable to find it. It was eerily similar to Fidelius, but it seemed Grimmauld Place was the keeper, and it was determined to keep Draco as safe as Harry wanted to. 

But Draco noticed none of these. He went through the first week with bare minimum efforts. Woke up and showered before Harry even started to stir. Made breakfast and ate, leaving Harry’s portion under a spell as he wandered the library. On the third day, Draco made too much and he packed the surplus for Harry to bring as lunch. Then he did it the next day as well. And then he started making Harry’s lunch separately from breakfast. By Friday, the Aurors in Harry’s office had made a habit of coming to his desk to see what he was having for lunch that day.

“Dating someone?” they would tease, and Harry couldn’t even muster up a smile because this food wasn’t a product of something good. 

The nights were the hardest, when Harry would walk past Draco’s room on his way to his own. One night he heard Draco sniffling and Harry knocked on the door asking if he was okay. Draco went quiet for a long time before replying in a very even voice, “I’m fine. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“You know you didn’t,” Harry said quietly. Then Harry would turn around and go into his office and work on the case instead.

Then every night after that when Harry passed Draco’s door, he would hear nothing except for the static of _Muffliato_. And that static would stay there for a long time.

* * *

Harry was yanked out of the Pensive roughly and stumbled a little before being righted by the same pair of hands that pulled him out in the first place. Harry turned around and glared at Savage. Even if she wasn’t the head of the Auror’s office, there was no way Harry could take her in a fistfight so he settled on glaring. Savage had an irate expression on her face. 

“Potter, what the hell are you doing?” she snapped.

“I _was_ trying to solve a case,” Harry snapped back.

“You were supposed to clock out _seven hours_ ago.” Savage drew her wand and pulled the memory out of the Pensive and back into the bottle labeled “witness #56”. 

She looked at the lined up bottles. “Is it normal to have this many witnesses?” Savage asked.

“Scorpius was last seen in Hogsmeade,” Harry said, angry. “No one remembers seeing him, so I’m going through everyone’s memory during that time.”

Savage sighed. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about, Potter.”

“What?” Harry crossed his arms. “Make it quick so I can get back to work.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Savage snapped. “Look at you! You’re disrespecting your superior. You’ve spent the last month basically camping out in the office. And I know you take back case files and I know you know that’s not allowed. You’ve been working for fifteen hours straight!”

“There is a murderer on the loose!” Harry rammed his fist on the table. Savage didn’t even twitch. 

“There’s always a murderer on the loose!” She slapped his hand away and jammed her finger into his chest, which hurt more than the table. “You’re obsessed!”

“Of course I am!” Harry backed away from Savage before he actually gives in to the temptation of hexing her so he could get back to work. “A child is dead!”

At that, Savage softened, only enough to look pitied. “And not just any child,” she said. “I know you and the kid were close. And I know you and the father are close, but this isn’t healthy.”

Harry groaned and rubbed his eyes, not wanting to admit they felt like sandpaper. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll go home.”

“That’s not it,” Savage said, and she seemed to be bracing herself like she was in a duel. “I’m removing you from the case.”

Harry felt his throat tighten. His limbs tingled with tremors. He blinked away the black spots and croaked out, “You can’t do that.”

“I’m doing it.” Savage leaned on the doorframe. “I’ll give you some other murder case if you want.”

Harry flared up. “Fuck you.”

“My subordinates’ health is a priority, too,” Savage said.

“No one else here will give him a chance!” Harry yelled.

“I’ll take this case myself.”

Panting, Harry tried, “Please,” as a desperate measure, “I’ll pace myself — delegate more work. I’ll — ”

Savage gave him an even look. “No, you won’t.”

Harry slumped against the wall, heart thundering with panic. Imagining Draco’s disappointed and betrayed face when he finds out that Harry wasn’t looking for Scorpius’ murderer anymore.

“And to think,” Savage started. “You wouldn’t be having this problem if you had just taken the promotion years ago. You’ll be telling me to fuck off instead.”

“I _am_ telling you to fuck off,” Harry said.

“Well. If you were the boss, I’d have to listen,” Savage replied. “Now, fuck off.”

Harry didn’t. He sat in the room for a long while. The Pensive had locked itself up to Harry, and none of the evidence was accessible to him anymore. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to go home.

* * *

Draco wasn’t prepared to see Harry’s head hung low when he got to the living room.

At first, Draco thought Harry was asleep, and he was so ready to start nagging. Because Harry had been coming home at ridiculous hours, and every night when Draco came out of his room, just to walk around because he wasn’t sleeping, he would see the lights to Harry’s office still on. How Harry was getting any sleep, Draco had no clue. 

Then Harry looked up, and Draco had to stifle an intake of breath. 

“God,” Draco said, sounding very much like Alice’s mother when she was horrified. “What happened? Are you all right?”

Despite his haunted eyes, Harry rushed to reassure. “Nothing bad with the case.” He looked pained at that. “No progress, but still. Nothing . . . worse, in regards to Scorpius.”

Truthfully, the case hadn’t occurred to Draco. “Okay,” Draco said, not wanting to throw away Harry’s consideration. “But are you alright?”

Draco sat down next to Harry, and Harry’s hands gripped Draco’s between his. 

Harry’s breath stuttered. Like his lung had holes. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“What?”

“Draco, I’m so sorry,” Harry said. “I got taken off Scorpius’ case. I’m sorry.”

“Good god, Potter, don’t scare me like that,” Draco said, squeezing Harry’s hands. “I thought something awful happened.”

Harry’s face snapped up. For a moment, he looked furious. “What?” he said. “How can you not be upset that I can’t help — that I’m not going to find out what happened to Scorpius — ”

“Are they closing the case?” Draco asked carefully. He was worried it could happen. 

“No!” Harry said. “Savage — the Head Auror’s taken it.”

“As long as someone is working on it,” Draco said. “Before, I would have probably worried. But you forget how much change you brought to the Aurors, Harry. It’s actually a government institution people trust now. I’m holding onto the hope that they’ll solve it.”

Harry looked seconds away from crumbling. 

“I know,” Draco said, untangling his hands and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry’s arms went around his waist. “I know you desperately want to find who did it. I know. But you’re working yourself too hard.”

“I’ve been eating more regularly since you started living here,” was Harry’s mumbled reply.

“There’s more to it than that,” Draco said. He couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to Harry’s hair like he would when Scorpius was little. A remnant of his instinct. “I just — I can’t say I’m overjoyed that the best Auror isn’t working on it anymore, but . . .”

Draco waved his wand at the radio. The channel was the same every day. The one Draco listened to. It just played songs. Quiet ones. 

He stood up awkwardly, arms still around Harry and Harry’s still around Draco. Harry made a confused noise. He was still hiding his face in Draco’s shoulder.

“But I want you to survive this grief as well,” Draco said as he started swaying them to the music. The song talked about being safe and warm in someone’s arms and free hearts. Draco could only do one now. He held onto Harry tighter, and hoped to the heavens that he wouldn’t lose the last person he loved.

* * *

The morning after Harry was taken off the case, he decided to not go into office that day. Savage might even actually punch him if she saw Harry showing up, anyway. So he sat in the kitchen, watching Draco flipping through a cookbook, apparently deciding it was a day for fancy breakfast. Harry sipped his tea occasionally. Draco really did make it better. 

Draco didn’t want Harry to help. Not that Harry could concentrate. After last night, Harry had tried very hard to focus on things other than Scorpius and the case and the dance in his living room (god. _God_.) or Draco kissing his hair. So stupidly, Harry had been thinking about how soft Draco’s hand was on Harry’s nape, and wondered if he used hand cream.

Not wanting to say anything serious, Harry asked, “Do you use hand cream?”

“Of course,” Draco said, still looking at the cookbook and cracking eggs at the same time. “I’m not a barbarian.” 

“Oh,” Harry said. “I do too.” Though his hands felt nowhere near as nice as Draco’s, which were soft in a way that was too good to be true. “But only because sometimes my hands get really dry and it bothers me. I don’t remember my hands being dry ever was a subject of distress when I was young. I guess that was the moment when I actually felt old for the first time, even though I hate the feeling of it coating my hands.”

Draco laughed. “Is that so?” He turned slightly, just enough to smile at Harry. “Maybe I should give you some of mine. I make them myself.”

Draco did; summoning it from his room. Harry only used a little — because he always felt oily after. But Draco’s was smooth and watery, leaving Harry’s hands feeling like they were freshly washed instead of applying greasy products. And — “It smells like you.” Harry said before he could stop himself, and flushed to the tips of his ears. 

Surprised, Draco said, “Yes. It’s patchouli. I use it in my shampoo and soap as well. One thing I like about having a potion degree is making my own stuff — however snobbish that sounds —”

Despite his previous embarrassment, he couldn’t help but stare at Draco’s back as the man talked. It had been too long since Harry saw him like this. He asked questions when the opportunity arose, just so Draco would keep talking, and tried to stitch this moment into his mind.

* * *

Harry couldn’t keep staying home just because he wasn’t on Scorpius’ case. Even though Draco, privately, wanted him to. But Harry had been coming back for dinner every day, and it helped Draco keep busy. He tried extremely hard to keep himself from idleness. It was hard enough not to think about Scorpius when Draco was doing things, now he was frightened of what his mind would remind him of if he stopped. His rationality asked if it was good that he only saw Harry anymore, but he argued with himself that he still corresponded with Pansy and Blaise, even Lovegood a few times. And the idea of seeing people still made Draco’s head dizzy with anxiety. 

Staying with Harry was better than Draco had thought it would be. It turned out Harry was the best person to grieve with. He respected Draco’s bouts of anguish. Draco cannot say the same thing for Blaise and Pansy, who would probably never want to leave him alone, even for a second. The reason Draco could come up with was because Harry was well versed in grievings, from a long line of loss. And Draco (in the privacy of his own mind, the small, selfish part that never really went away) thought _thank god_ , before hating himself a little more for it. 

Though after two weeks, it didn’t feel like it used to. Still watchful, Harry started to actively ask after Draco’s well-being. As he stopped (reluctantly) slaving his energy and time away on looking for Scorpius’ killer, Harry seemed to zero in on Draco. He tried to get Draco to leave the house. Asked him if he wanted to go flying. Even said they should take a weekend somewhere sunny, as though laying in the sun was supposed to help Draco. Try to help Draco with cooking, as though freeing up Draco’s time was making him _better_ — 

“Stop it!” Draco snapped. 

Harry snatched his hand back. The hurt in his expression welled up like tears before it was drowned out by an angry flush. “What’s your problem?” he snapped back. 

“What’s _my_ problem?” Draco said, setting the knife down so he wouldn’t be tempted to throw it later. “You’re the one who keeps trying to help when I repeatedly told you _not_ to!”

“For fuck’s sake, wanting to help is too much to ask for?” Harry’s fists were tight and glued to his thighs. “You’ve been non-stop — ”

“For a reason,” Draco said tightly. “For a reason,” Draco repeated, now slackly. 

“I’m just trying to make it easier for you,” Harry said in a hushed tone, like he was trying to convince them. Draco’s ear rang. His vision blurred for a brief moment, before it all came back with a vengeance. Suddenly, all he felt was anger. Was unfairness. Was everything he was trying to push down so it wouldn’t come bubbling up like a whistling kettle. Draco had been afraid if he started screeching, there wouldn’t be anyone to turn the fire down. He really wanted to throw that fucking knife, and he knew the person he wanted to aim it at wasn’t Harry. 

“I’m not an invalid, Potter!” Draco spat. “Merlin, I wish I was! I wish I could just drop and get away from all this! Don’t you think I don’t want to just give up? But I can’t, I'm here, alive, the one to blame, and so useless — useless, and all I’m waiting for is the lot of you to catch the fucking killer so I could . . . I could . . .”

“So you could what, Draco?” Harry’s voice was trembling. “So you could shut down? What?”

“I’m the only one left!” Draco screamed. “It doesn’t matter! I’m just holding onto this last bit, as soon as Scorpius’ killer is thrown into Azkaban for the rest of their miserable life, I’m _done_!”

The words tumbled out of Harry’s mouth so quickly it seemed like they were reflex. As though Draco just gave him the snitch. “Then I hope we don’t catch them.”

Draco’s mouth snapped shut.

“God,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” He reached out.

Draco jerked back. Eyes on the ground. “Don’t.”

“Please, I didn’t mean it — ”

Draco turned and strode out of Grimmauld Place. The house opened the door for him, and he didn’t stop to close it. 

Grimmauld Place slammed it in Harry’s face for him.

* * *

Draco didn’t know the name of the hotel he was staying at. He just went into the first one he saw. It was nowhere near as luxurious as The Berkeleys. Everything was rustic like Draco had traveled to the middle of nowhere instead of central London. The warm color scheme did soothe Draco’s heart a little as he dumped his groceries on the counter. Everything fell out, which was really just boxes of tea and chocolates and a bottle of painkiller. 

He sat on the bed until the sun went down, trying not to think about how lonely he felt, while ignoring Harry’s owl. Though he lasted three minutes before letting the poor thing in — letting it suffer the smelly, noisy London air was something Draco didn’t wish to impose on anything, even if it was a bearer of Harry’s apologies. 

Draco didn’t open the letter, and before closing his eyes, he was half worried he was going to find Harry in his room come morning.

When Draco opened his swollen eyes the next day, there was a Potter in his room alright. He groaned and sank himself back under the blankets.

“For fuck’s sake,” Draco said into his hands. “Am I to be plagued with every Potter in the world?”

Ginny was looking into his grocery bags. “I had expected you to be gazing into the bottom of the strongest firewhiskey now.”

“I don’t drink,” Draco said. “How the fuck did you get in?”

“Magic,” Ginny replied. “It’s good that you don’t drink.”

She said it as though she was an approving parent. Draco glared. “I could be doing drugs, or drowning myself in potions. I have a legal license to brew them, I’ll have you know.”

“You are the most boring addict in the world.” Ginny pointedly glanced at the mugs of tea and boxes of chocolate.

Draco picked up a piece of chocolate despite the fact that it was probably ass o’clock in the morning. He pushed the box towards Ginny. “They could be laced with drugs, you don't know.”

Ginny picked one that looked like a seashell and popped it into her mouth. “Ugh, caramel.”

“You don’t like caramel, you heathen?”

“Too sticky, too sweet, not enough nuance,” Ginny said. “Don’t tell Harry I said that.”

Draco looked away. “I doubt I would be telling him anything anymore.”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“Of course he didn’t. It’s Harry.”

“But you’re still angry with him.”

“It still hurts.”

“I know,” Ginny said softly. “He feels miserable about it. He wouldn’t talk to anyone.”

“Yet here you are.”

“I’m not anyone.” Ginny picked another chocolate. “You won’t forgive him?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to him,” Ginny ate another one. “I would have visited you. Before.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t.”

“I’m touched,” Draco tried to snap at her. 

“But I wanted to,” Ginny said. “I want you to know that.”

Draco looked away. “Okay.”

* * *

The first time Ginny had an actual conversation with Malfoy was when the man came to pick up Scorpius at her house.

Harry had been there, too. He ushered Malfoy in to sit down and asked him if he wanted tea, biscuits, or anything else, was he sure he didn’t want biscuits? They have ginger or chocolate, he knew Draco liked chocolate. Was he sure he didn’t want biscuits?

Malfoy was sure. And Ginny found his discomfiture funny enough that she didn’t bother to stop Harry. In the end it earned her a glare, and Harry went away to try and convince the boys that it was time to put down their phones or video games or whatever. So it was just Ginny and Malfoy, in her kitchen.

Malfoy had seen a picture of her team and asked, politely, how the season was. Ginny wasn’t sure if that meant Malfoy had stopped paying attention to Quidditch or it was just feigned ignorance in honor of small-talk. And she told him about her plans, because she was thinking about it and it was nice to talk about something you were brewing over, no matter who the audience was. 

Malfoy had been suitably impressed with Ginny’s offer to be team captain, and was unexpectedly horrified when she mentioned that despite the promotion, she was considering leaving the team for a more “stable” job.

“Why would you do that,” Malfoy had said. Ginny had thought she heard the beginning of a sneer, and she had been so ready to tear him a new one if he tried to talk about her family’s financial status. But Malfoy had added, “If I had been good enough to play, I would never trade a spot in Quidditch for some desk job.”

Scorpius and Albus had come in then, Ginny remembered, because she was so relieved she didn’t have to respond. Malfoy had just admitted he wasn't good enough at something. Not only so, but that a Weasley was better at that something. Ginny had found Harry later when they left and he had rubbed her back as she recounted the tale, a little too hysterically.

“Yeah,” Harry had said. “He’s something, isn’t he?”

Ginny remembered this part too: the way Harry smiled when he said that, and how her brain ceased working just enough to blurt out: “Merlin, you like him!”

Harry snatched his hand back as though burned. He gaped at Ginny.

And that was the dilemma. Ginny had always been a bit possessive of Harry, even after the divorce. She didn’t like that about herself at all so she acted more understanding outwardly to make up for it. She shifted in her seat.

“What?” Ginny said defensively. She knew she was right.

“What?” Harry sputtered. “I don't — ”

Ginny sighed. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t, er, personally, like him,” Harry insisted. “It’s objective affection. He’s hilarious, and so smart it’s scary. And he really takes care of his family.” Harry stopped. Blushed. God, Ginny wanted to scream and roll her eyes at the same time. A marriage, three kids, and one divorce later, Harry was still as awkward about this as he was sixteen. If only Ginny didn’t find it adorable, she might be more concerned with the knowledge that her ex-husband liked Draco Malfoy.

Though she really shouldn’t be surprised . . . rather than being good from the beginning, Harry always did like people who worked for their kindness more.

What _was_ surprising, was that Ginny ended up liking Malfoy quite a bit too. Especially after bonding with him over horror movies. Fucking Slytherins, infuriatingly charming, the lot of them.

Anyway, that was why Ginny felt she could barge into Malfoy’s hotel room while the man was still sleeping, and try to strong-arm him into going back. That, plus Ginny was pretty sure Harry had been staring at the wall since last night, and wouldn’t respond to anything that didn’t involve Malfoy.

Malfoy, on the other hand, looked as though he’d been crying since last night. Though Ginny suspected she would be too, if Albus had been murdered and someone had told her they hoped the killer was never found. 

“Oh, damn it,” Ginny said. “Fuck!”

“What are you on about?” Malfoy said from the bed.

“I’m just thinking about what you’re going through,” she said. “I honestly have no idea how you’re still functioning.”

Malfoy didn’t reply.

“Harry helped, didn’t he?” Ginny said. “But he’s not perfect. He’s better. Harry’s _good_.”

Malfoy sat up. He looked very lost in the midst of blankets.

“Draco,” Ginny said, now quietly. “There are people waiting for you. We’ve not disappeared. We’re just waiting for you to be ready.” Ginny looked down at her hands. “My mum lost a child too. It took her a long time to get better.” 

Malfoy stuffed two chocolates into his mouth. Ginny kept her eyes on her hands because she wouldn’t want people to see her cry either. 

Eventually, Malfoy said, “He’s been the only thing that kept me going.” He sounded hesitant. “Wanting to know who did it kept me going too . . . but . . . it’s different. Waiting for the truth feels like I’m just, muscling through an awful movie just to find out who’s the killer. But Harry made me feel like I could still be alive after this. That I’m surviving this.”

“I want you to have both,” Ginny said. She summoned Harry’s letter. Held it out. “What do you say?”

Malfoy pushed the heels of his hand hard into his eyes. Grabbed the box of chocolate and traded it with the letter. 

Ginny ate another one. “Hmm, hazelnut.”

* * *

Harry looked as though he wanted to wrap Malfoy in his arms and never let him go again when they showed up at Grimmauld Place. Malfoy looked as though he wanted Harry to. And Ginny stood, a little ways behind them, wondering why they still hadn’t done anything about it. Harry murmured, not loud enough for Ginny to hear. Then he tugged on Malfoy’s little finger, staring at him with wide eyes. Still murmuring. Malfoy swayed, just enough for Harry to notice. Harry reached out and caught Malfoy’s hands, brought them to his chest, pressing it right where his heart was. Ginny had never seen apologies done so lovingly before, like it was a confession instead. She left them by the front door and went to make tea. 

It was almost an hour before Harry came into the kitchen. He hugged her, and it was nothing like the tug of a finger he gave Malfoy. It hadn’t been like that for a long time. 

“Thank you for bringing him back,” Harry said into her hair. 

Ginny sniffed. “I really did it for Malfoy,” she said. “He needs someone that loves him right now.”

Harry pulled back. Stared. 

“I never — ” Harry paused. He looked scared. “I never told anyone.”

Ginny brushed his hair from his face. “Oh, Harry,” she said. “I know more than anyone what you look like when you’re in love.”

* * *

Ginny stopped to watch Draco’s sleeping form on the sofa before she left. “You know this, of course, but I feel like I should remind you. You can’t do anything about your feelings right now.”

Harry crossed his arm, and tried very hard not to be offended. “I wouldn’t take advantage of him like that.” 

Ginny looked pained. “It really kills you to see him hurting.”

“I’m out of practice with grief,” Harry said. 

“Someone who had lost a child would never really heal from it,” Ginny said. “I think he should start, anyway.”

Harry sighed. “Okay. I think it’s good. But only if Draco wants it.”

Ginny nodded. 

Mrs. Weasley’s letter was waiting for them the next morning. Draco looked sore and soft from sleeping nearly a day, and he frowned at the owl. 

“Don’t you want to talk to her?” Harry asked carefully. He was still a little afraid Draco would decide he’d be better off somewhere else.

Draco looked sullen. “I supposed she’s the only one around that understands.” Draco untied the letter, and Harry held out his arm for the owl. “I’m not certain I’m ready,” Draco said, “Though by now I’m also certain I’ll perhaps never be.” Draco scribbled an affirmative on the letter and handed it back to Harry. Then he stared at a water stain on the table until Harry put a plate of breakfast in front of him.

Mrs. Weasley didn’t waste any time lollygagging, which was the polite way of saying that she showed up at Grimmauld Place just an hour later and kicked Harry out of his own house, because divorce or not, Mrs. Weasley would always be the matriarch of the Potter house. 

So Harry came back at six p.m., as per Mrs. Weasley’s instruction. And he bought some fizzy apple drink that looked nice and was on sale for himself. He also bought a box of ridiculously tiny and horrifyingly expensive box of matcha chocolate because Draco said he wanted to try some that one time, years ago. Then he spent a good ten minutes pacing on his stoop, anxious about going in, until Grimmauld Place had enough and the front stoop lobbed Harry straight at the door, which thankfully opened up before collision. Harry stumbled and ran into the entryway cabinet and smashed the fizzy apple drink for himself. The box of chocolate for Draco, unsurprisingly, was unscathed. Harry sighed and Vanished the mess.

“I apologized to him already,” Harry said to the house. “You don’t have to keep punishing me.”

One of the floorboards dipped as Harry stepped on it, causing him to stumble right into Draco, who was just coming out from the living room. 

“I thought I heard you,” Draco said. His hands gripped Harry’s shoulder and nape in a way that made Harry wish for death so he wouldn’t try and kiss him. 

“Stupid house,” Harry mumbled, then yelped when he floorboard pitched him forward again. Draco’s arms now came to wrap around Harry as he tried to steady them. Harry jumped back, flushed.

“Er,” Harry said. “I got you chocolate.”

Draco took it wordlessly, and it was then that Harry saw the redness of his eyes. Harry closed the distance himself this time, hovering. “How did it go?” 

Draco blinked. His eyes looked so raw, Harry wondered if he should run out and get some cream for it. 

“It was nice,” Draco said, unsure. “If that was the word for it. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I’m relieved that I accepted it.”

“Good, that’s,” Harry said. “Good. How are you?”

“Very tired,” Draco said, slumping. “It’s too early to sleep.”

“I’ll make some dinner,” Harry said, putting a hand on Draco’s waist and veering him back to the living room. “Go rest.”

Harry was ready for Draco to scowl and tell him to fuck off, but Molly must have really got to him. Draco curled up on the settee without a word and flicked his wand at the radio. 

* * *

Mrs. Weasley was teaching him how to make treacle tart.

“It’s Harry’s favorite, you know,” she said. 

Draco had, unfortunately, known that since he was eleven.

“Is it?” he replied, because he thought he could save a little dignity in front of Mrs. Weasley. Hopefully she wouldn’t go home and ask any one of her family that went to school with him. Surely Draco’s common knowledge of Harry Potter facts was common knowledge among the students of their year. 

“It’s always lovely, being able to make someone happy,” Mrs. Weasley said with a meaningful tone, looking at Draco very hard. 

“Of course,” Draco said, feeling like he was in some sort of test. 

“It’ll just make me happy to teach you how to make Harry’s favorite dish!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, rather desperately now.

Draco felt like she wanted to know something, and he wanted to tell her! He just wasn’t sure what she wanted.

“It’ll be good to surprise him with it when he gets off work,” Draco said, and was proud of himself for saying it as though he had meant for it to not be a question.

Mrs. Weasley smiled indulgently and patted his arm. Draco was sure if she was tall enough, she would have aimed for his hair instead, and felt very fortunate that he was taller than most old ladies.

“Fred’s favorite sweet is fudge, just heaps of them. I don’t make it often because he always ate until he got sick. George never did care for it much, though. That’s one of the few things they don’t have in common.”

Draco’s heart rate picked up, and it made him slightly faint (an annoying recurrence nowadays). 

“You said ‘is’.”

Mrs. Weasley’s smile was quiet. Her grief looked different from Draco’s, and it felt impossible at the moment to think that his would ever look as soft as hers. “All these years without Fred, I realized, just because they’re no longer with us, doesn’t mean some aspect of them wouldn’t always remain ‘is’.”

Draco felt really faint now. 

Mrs. Weasley came up to him and held his hand. Draco dropped into a chair. She smelled like yeast and bread. No women in his life ever smell like yeast and bread. He hadn’t realized a smell could be warm.

“Let it happen, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. “It’s painful, but you have to let it hurt you a few times for it to soften.

She went quiet after that, still holding his hands. This time, Draco knew what she wanted to know. 

“Scorpius’ favorite sweet was — ” Draco felt his eyes run hot. “ — is rhubarb pie. _Only_ rhubarb. He won’t eat it if it has strawberry in it.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Weasley sounded like she wanted to laugh.

Draco smiled. “He is an odd child.”

“Odd ones are more often than not the best ones,” Mrs. Weasley said, and ran a soothing hand through his now reachable hair. Draco felt a tear and closed his eyes, focusing on Mrs. Weasley’s fingers, and everything else that was happening in his chest. It didn’t feel that awful after all. 

* * *

Harry was greeted with dinner and the smell of treacle tart when he got home from work that day.

“Mrs. Weasley and I made it today,” Draco said. “It’ll be ready by the time we finish dinner.”

Harry sucked his lower lip into his mouth and tried very, very hard to stop falling more in love. But then Draco blushed and fixed his hair, tucking ends of them behind his ears and left his fingers there, and said, “I hope you’ll like it.” 

Nevermind. Not being in love sucked, anyway, Harry thought, and grinned stupidly at Draco. “That’s nice of you.”

Draco huffed and turned away, taking his time scooping stew into the huge bowls that Harry loved. 

“You’re not working tomorrow, are you?” Draco asked suddenly, a few minutes after they started dinner. 

“Er, no,” Harry said. “Why?”

Draco idly picked out the bay leaves in his bowl, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “I was thinking about going back to my house.”

Harry’s whole body froze. Draco was still not looking at him. 

“I want to go through some of Scorpius’ things,” Draco said. “Mrs. Weasley suggested it. I don’t much fancy keeping on being depressed. So since there’s some vague sort of a guidebook, I’ll try it.”

Harry hoped whatever in his voice wasn’t obvious, “You’re going back?”

Draco mumbled something.

Harry flattened his sweaty palms on his jeans. “You’re not coming back?”

Draco’s eyes snapped to Harry’s. “What?” he asked. Swallowed. Voice small, “Oh.” 

“What?” Harry said. 

“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. I understand.”

“What?” Harry said again. “I don’t want you to leave. I thought you want to leave.”

“What?” Draco said.

“You said you were thinking about going back to your house.” Harry didn’t want to use the word ‘home’. 

“I just meant going back to go through some of Scorpius’ stuff,” Draco said. “It might help.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry said. Then, “I don’t want you to leave. But I won’t stop you if you want to.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Draco said, sounding annoyed and confused at the same time. “But if you want me to leave I’d understand.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Don’t.”

“Okay,” Draco said.

They ate in silence for a while.

“You want me to go with you?” Harry asked. 

“It’d be nice,” Draco said, looking at his stew. “To have some company while doing so.”

“Yes,” Harry said. Only the fact that Draco was here stopped him from jumping up in elation, very keenly aware that this was the first time Draco sought out his help. “Yes, of course,” Harry said, with only a slight tremble.

Draco looked up and locked gazes with Harry. The corner of his eyes scrunched up in hope.

* * *

A layer of dust coated Draco’s house when they stepped in. With a wave of his wand, Draco Vanished it all at once. Then he stood at the entryway, looking from the drawing-room to the staircase.

Harry stepped closer to Draco, so their shoulders pressed together. “You don’t have to do everything today.”

“Right,” Draco said. Took a step towards the stairs, which Harry knew led to the bedrooms, before turning and heading into the drawing-room. 

In some ways, that was the difficult choice. It was filled with family photos. Still ones. Harry hovered by the bookcase and watched Draco’s eyes raked over the room. He chose a picture and waved Harry over.

“Do you mind listening to me?” Draco asked, showing Harry the picture. 

“I never mind listening to you,” Harry said. 

Draco gazed at the picture between them. “Scorpius wanted to donate hair for children with cancer. Astoria took pictures every time his hair was noticeably longer.” 

Draco sat that one down and pointed at another one. “That’s Scorpius on his first field trip. He was excited about seeing the constellations. He told me he specifically asked the guide to show him Draco.” Harry grinned at that. Draco smiled. “He didn’t even ask to see Scorpio.”

Harry wanted to ask more about stars, but he didn’t want to interrupt Draco. “This one,” Draco pointed at a fuzzy picture of Draco and Astoria, from an angle looking up. “Was taken by Scorpius after Astoria and I had a fight. He was only three then. He heard us fighting and said, ‘Stop talking to each other for five minutes. Talk to me instead.’ We have no idea where he got that.” Draco looked — sad, that was the only word for it. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s been gotten both of his parents’ emotional maturity.”

Draco looked through pictures. Sometimes he had a story to tell, sometimes he simply stared. Eventually he got a huge leatherbound book from the bookcase. The thing looked to be held together only through sheer will, but Draco tapped his wand on it and it opened smoothly. It wasn’t a book; it was a collection of letters. 

“He always wrote to us, even when he was studying in muggle schools,” Draco said. Most of the papers inside weren’t parchment. Instead they were lined papers, carefully cut from notebooks. Draco flipped through them. “I think he spent more money on stamps than sweets.”

“His handwriting is adorable,” Harry said. “He spelled ‘Ruth’ wrong though.”

Draco laughed. “This was during his passive-aggressive phase of spelling everyone’s name wrong on purpose, since no kid could spell ‘Scorpius’ right.”

“Oh my god,” Harry laughed. “You’re joking! That’s brilliant.”

“Isn’t he just?” Draco said, then his smile froze. He picked up a letter, with only a single paragraph on it. Harry could feel Draco’s shock before he saw it. Once again, Harry found himself at a loss on whether to preemptively offer shelter or if he should wait for Draco. 

Harry didn’t know, so he rested the tip of his finger to Draco’s knee.

“Scorpius wrote this when he was six,” Draco said, eyes glued to the letter. “Something about once in eighty-eight years . . . I . . .”

Draco passed the letter to Harry. Cute handwriting, Harry thought again before reading, and wondered if Draco wrote like this when he was six. 

_Dear mum and dad,_

_Rachle told me since today is December 12 2012 that at 12:12 it will be the perfect time to teleport. Is teleporting the muggle version of apparating? It will be lunch soon, so if I disappear don’t worry I am somewhere that makes me very happy. Wait a minute! I think I would just end up home with you guys!_

_Love, Scorpius, at 12/12/12 12:12_

Harry weighed the letter in his hands. Something that contained this much love felt wrong being so fragile. Harry thought he had done a good job ever since this happened at ignoring his own worst fear. He wondered how he’d fare if any one of his children died and Harry was confronted with this in the aftermath. Would this be the thing that finally did him in? Or would it bring him solace, knowing how much they loved him? Because looking at this letter, Harry felt his heart swell and his eyes burn in the same breath with equal ferocity. 

“He is _such_ a good kid,” Harry said with vehement awe, hoping Draco could know how much he meant it, and that Harry missed Scorpius like a wound, too. Like there was nothing Harry wouldn’t do to get Scorpius back and he wouldn’t be doing it for Draco, or Albus, or for Harry’s own peace of mind; he would have done it without second thought because Scorpius deserved to be able to keep writing letters, to play piano and organize plays, to come in second to Rose and feeling good about it. He deserved to have lived. 

Though Harry didn’t say any of this because it felt cruel to remind Draco that none of this would happen. Draco took the letter back and carefully folded, cast protection spells on it and slipped it into his pocket.

“I think I’m done for the day,” Draco said, looking like if he could give up, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

* * *

Savage finally relented after weeks of needling from Harry. “I’ll give you updates,” she said. “But I’m not letting you join as a consultant.”

“I —” Harry said, but clamped his mouth shut when Savage glared.

“Close the damn door,” she said. “Your initial investigation was pretty much all the department could have found, so I thought we needed a fresh eye,” she said pointedly. 

Harry let out an indignant noise.“I put in a request for a muggle autopsy from the start of the case,” Harry said crossly.

“There are still people who distrust muggle technology,” Savage said. “Anyway, I yelled at some people and it got fast-tracked. We’re having a new team coming in tomorrow.”

“That is so unfair,” Harry said. “I didn’t know all I had to do is yell at people.”

“No, all _I_ have to do is yell at people. It wouldn’t work coming from you. You know, Savior and all. You’re like the synonym to benevolence in this department.”

“I was known to have anger issues before!” Harry thought he ought to remind her.

“Yeah, when you have Voldemort as your brain-roommate,” Savage said. “Also, you were fifteen, everyone’s got anger issues at fifteen. _Come_ on, Potter, don’t give me that face.”

Walking away, Harry grumbled, “I can be vicious if I want to.”

The team of forensic scientists came first thing in the morning, and they were already in the thick of it when Harry arrived. He stopped next to Savage and watched them work through the glass wall. 

“According to Muggle Liaison, these are some of the best,” Savaged said.

“That’s what they always say,” Harry retorted. “Who knows how low the bar dropped when ML saw it was for Draco’s son.”

Savage sighed. “Not everyone in England is out to get him.”

“Yeah, just enough people that his son wound up dead.”

Savage’s lips thinned. 

“What’re they doing now?”

“Just the basic tests for now. DNA, blood test, drug substance. Luckily magic is able to keep the body as it was, so they should be able to find something.”

“If only my request got approved, then they would have been at the crime scene as well,” Harry sniped.

“Give it a rest, Potter!”

Harry did give it a rest. He went home and told Draco about it. 

Draco looked hopeful. “I’ve seen CSI New York,” he said.

“I’m not sure those are accurate,” Harry replied. “But the test should be back in a couple of days.”

When the test came back, Harry wasn’t going to let Savage keep him out of the briefing. He’d use the Savior card if he had to. If that didn’t work, he’d use the Hermione Granger card as an ultimatum. Savage looked massively annoyed at that.

“Come in, and don’t make a scene,” she said. Harry sat down at an unassuming seat, looking bitterly at the Aurors that didn’t get taken off the case. 

When the head of the muggle forensic team came in, she had a disturbed expression on her face. Savage waved for her to sit at the head. “Whenever you’re ready, Ms. Wright.”

“Look, this isn’t anything against you guys, but every time I have to help out a magical case, I always leave feeling disturbed,” Wright said. 

“Charmed,” Savage said.

“Okay, I’m just going to go straight in. Weird thing first, according to our result, the victim should be around sixty years old, give or take a few years.”

There was a beat of silence, before Savage made a confused noise. 

Wright pulled up an image on the projector, even though she should know none of them could understand it, “Basically, we can tell a person’s age from their DNA, and this boy has the DNA of a sixty-year-old male. So we ran a DNA testing with the father’s data, and it turns out, well, they’re not related.”

“What?” Harry yelled, while anyone in the room began talking at once.

“Quiet!” Savage bellowed. “Ms. Wright, how is this possible?”

“That’s really not for me to answer, is it?” Wright said. “And the cause of death is acetaminophen overdose. They’re very common in over-the-counter medicines. If the body is someone that’s already nearing natural death, then an overdose on can do it quickly.”

“What do you mean he’s not Scorpius?” Harry demanded loudly. 

Wright handed a file to Savage, “We found some traces of herbs in his blood, too.”

Savage flipped open the file. “Oh my god,” she said. “Oh my god, it’s Polyjuice ingredients.”

“How can a body be transformed with Polyjuice?” one Auror asked.

“If the person took the potion before they died, they’ll retain the form even after death,” Harry said. 

“Has that happened before?”

“It’s how Barty Crouch Junior escaped Azkaban,” Harry closed his eyes. God, he was so stupid. “His mother Polyjuiced into him and died there. When they buried her, she still looked like her son.”

Savage jumped from her seat and out the door so quickly it took the slam of the door to snap the rest of them out of their stupor. Harry was the next out the door, and when he caught up with Savage, she was heading straight to the morgue, muttering profanities all the while.

Scorpius’s body was still on the examination table, now with the gruesome Y-shaped dissection stitches, extending all the way to his shoulder joints and down to his navel. Harry reeled back, bumping into the table with shuddering breaths. 

“It’s not Scorpius, Potter,” Savage said grimly. “Thief’s Downfall should do it.”

She cast, and Scorpius’ body bubbled and convulsed. His skin wrinkled and turned ashen. Harry watched, not without hope, as the body turned into a stranger. The rest of the Aurors and Wright piled in behind Harry. 

When it was over, they all stared at the body in silence. 

“Well,” Savage said. “Let’s get back to work.”

Harry couldn’t look away. Scorpius was gone. He wasn’t lying still in the DMLE morgue anymore. And even though Harry’s brain told him to not think about it, that it didn’t mean Scorpius was not dead somewhere else, the thought clawed at him until he let out a broken sound: Scorpius might still be alive.

* * *

Scorpius was in a bit of a pickle.

For example, he hadn’t picked up the costumes for the Drama club. Missing a pickup would cost him a fee.

Another thing, he hadn’t replied to Alice’s letter.

And one more thing, he seemed to have been kidnapped.

The last one was a guess.

When Scorpius woke up, there was an old-fashioned tear-off calendar on the wall by the bed he was in, and it showed that he had missed the last few weeks. His first and second thought was ridiculously ridiculous (please see above), while the last was horrifyingly horrible, but the preferred option. Hopefully he was _just_ kidnapped, and not . . . to be killed later or something.

Then he tried to get up and found he couldn’t leave the bed.

“Oh, for god’s sake, ” Scorpius said. Which was not the thing to do because he was apparently heard, and the door to the room opened swiftly. A stoic woman, somewhere in her late fifties, appeared with a tray of food.

“Good, you’re awake.” She put the tray on the bedside table. “Do you know what happened?”

“You kidnapped me,” Scorpius said. 

She frowned. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“For one thing, I remember it.” It was hazy, but Scorpius still remembered seeing her in Hogsmeade asking him if he could help her with some groceries, before knocking him out with said groceries. “And I don’t have my wand. Where is it?”

“You’re not getting one until I deem you safe and ready for one.”

“Safe?” Scorpius said.

“You are Draco Malfoy’s son,” the woman said. 

“I am,” Scorpius said. 

The woman sighed. “Look, I’m doing what I think it’s right. If you have been left under his care, who knows how you’ll turn out. We can’t have another You-Know-Who.” 

Most of Hogwarts would deny the kid who cried while watching _Gone With The Wind_ would have the potential of becoming the next Voldemort, but Scorpius didn’t think he should say that. “My father really wasn’t that close to Voldemort,” he said instead, because he had to say it. “I mean, he never really had it in him.”

“He was the only Death Eater that got pardoned,” she said, face darkening considerably. “And that means you are the only Death Eater offspring.”

“He was pardoned because he was underage when he took the Mark,” Scorpius said. That he was only a few months older than Scorpius was now, and the thought of his father’s life being threatened was enough to cripple him if he thought about it for too long.

“You see? This is exactly why I had to get you away from him.” She stood up. “Eat, and get some rest.”

“Understanding isn’t the same as excusing,” Scorpius said, then yelled out, right before the door closed: “And evidently I’ve been asleep for two weeks already!”

The door closed.

Scorpius lay down on the bed and wondered if he should start panicking. Or should he refrain from panicking? Should he panic a lot and get used to it so it won’t do him in later on? This was certainly a dilemma every teenager had to face at one point or another, and like most things that didn’t concern homework, he didn’t know what to do. So instead, Scorpius ignored the food and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t panic. He’d just miss his dad for now.

* * *

After that little depressing episode was done, Scorpius sat out to take in the room he was in. Which got done in about two seconds as there was nothing but the bed, calendar, and bedside table. There wasn’t even a window. He couldn’t open the drawers on the bedside table, and after an hour of attempted wandless _Alohomora_ , Scorpius changed to _Finite Incantateming_ the bed for another hour, before admitting to himself that wandless magic just wasn’t his forte. 

“Fine, I’ll sleep,” Scorpius said aloud, just in case the woman was listening. “But I’m not doing it because you told me to.”

Then he stayed up all night pretending to sleep: one to see if she actually let him; two because Scorpius didn’t trust her not to do anything after he was asleep; three, in the very back of his head, he did tell himself that he was scared. He was Scorpius the Dreadless. Malfoy the Unanxious. Even though right now he’d rather be Scorpius the Unkidnapped. And for the rest of the night Scorpius fancied himself with the daydream of Albus blasting through the wall and saving him from this nightmare. Not because blasting through walls was an Albus thing to do, but because it’d be the quickest way.

Scorpius wondered how Albus was doing. And if anyone knew he was kidnapped. Hopefully his captor did not do anything that made people unaware Scorpius was kidnapped, like faked a runaway or something.

* * *

Harry looked very odd when Draco met him at his office. 

Odd as in, Draco couldn’t tell if he was to be given good or bad news. But this was the first time he’d been called into the Auror’s office since the investigation, and Harry’s expression wasn’t making it any easier for him.

“Just tell me,” Draco said. “Don’t give me the crap.”

And when Harry did, Draco thought he had lost the grasp of the English language. So Harry just led him to the lab and peeled away the white sheet covering the body. 

“Is this anyone you know?” Harry asked.

“No,” Draco said blankly. “You’re saying Scorpius’ body turned into this man after a Revealing Charm?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “And before you asked, the body wasn’t swapped. There wasn’t a breach in the record.”

“Okay,” Draco said. He really had wanted to ask that.

“Draco, I . . . ” Harry said. “We’re treating it as a kidnapping now. But it’s been so long, and all the evidence has to be reexamined, we might have lost our window.” Harry moved closer to Draco. “I’m not stopping until we find out what happened, but I don’t — I can’t bear to see your hopes getting crushed.”

“I . . .” In some way, the idea of Scorpius held at someone else’s mercy scared him more than seeing his body. Draco remembered the note they found. What if they were hurting Scorpius to punish Draco? Was Scorpius getting tortured because of his father? “Don’t worry, Harry,” Draco said, his heart shutting down. “My hope isn’t up.”

* * *

A pile of books was dumped onto the bed. 

“Read these,” the woman said. “They’ll teach you about the war.”

Scorpius scanned through them. He wouldn’t bother with it, not because he didn’t want to, but because he had read every single one of these books already. He’d written essays on these books as extra credit. His father had helped him with it. 

“Start from the top, and read at least five chapters every day. I will quiz you on them before bedtime.”

 _Bedtime_. Scorpius wanted to roll his eyes. But during his night of not-panicking, Scorpius came up with a loose plan. Surely faking Stockholm Syndrome wasn’t that difficult? He’d founded the Drama Club, after all, and had Draco Malfoy as his father. He and his mother used to share meaningful looks when his father ranted about something mundane for over twenty-minutes. The original Stockholm victims developed the syndrome in six days. Surely Scorpius could do better! He would soon again become Scorpius the Unkidnapped. If not — then he’d not think about it because Scorpius didn’t want to spend each minute convulsing.

When he saw the woman again, the first thing he asked was, “Do you do anything to my father?”

The woman gave him a look. “I don’t care about him.”

Scorpius tried to channel his inner Rose, because she had the best scowl he’d ever seen. “He’d look for me.”

She gave him a bland smile. “I doubt that.”

“There must be an investigation on this,” Scorpius gritted out. “Why do you think you’d get away?”

“Dear, you really think they’re going to waste resources on a Malfoy?”

He tried not to, he really tried, because he understood this was going to be more psychological struggle than anything, but Scorpius sat back on the bed, and the hurt on his face wasn’t faked.

“Harry Potter is one of the best Aurors,” Scorpius said in a small voice. “He’s my best friend’s dad, and he’s my dad’s best friend. He’d look for me.”

“Harry Potter would look for anything,” she said.

Scorpius didn’t stop the tears from bursting out. “He wouldn’t give up on me.”

“He’s only one man, Scorpius.” She stood up. “I guess your lessons won’t happen tonight.”

“No, wait!” Scorpius said, and when she gave him a questioning look, he chose his words carefully. “Can’t you give me a window? Anything?” He let the desperation bleed out into each word. 

She smiled at him. “Good night.” And turned off the lights.

Scorpius buried his face into his hands and kept crying; just because he had a plan didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

* * *

Draco was worse than when he thought Scorpius was dead.

Harry could not get him out of bed, and it wasn’t until noon that he realized Draco had taken potions. Then he yelled at Draco for half an hour before hugging him tightly. Draco didn’t say anything at first. He then rested his cheek on Harry’s shoulder and asked, “What are they doing to him, Harry? What have they already done to him?”

Harry held on tighter.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Harry said. “It’s my fault. I should have checked, then we could’ve looked for him from the start.”

Draco turned so his face was pressed against Harry’s skin. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad.”

“I know.”

“I took the potions because I couldn’t stop thinking about Scorpius getting hurt.”

“I know.”

Draco started crying. He’d gone into a crying fit the day Harry told him the news as well. And he’d been getting them, seemingly out of nowhere, but Harry knew Draco’s mind never stopped thinking about it. And it cumulated mutedly until Draco snapped and he would break down until he tired. 

Every morning Harry would sit on his bed and stress himself out, because the thought of leaving Draco alone like this was unbearable, but he couldn’t stand not being at the DMLE and working on the case as well. But Draco wasn’t left alone. Harry had asked Molly to come the first day Harry got back on the case. Ginny sometimes came. Ron came, once, but he was so shaken afterward Harry didn’t have the heart to ask him again.

Harry also asked Hermione to work on the case too, under the table. She wasn’t allowed to see any of the files and Harry wasn’t allowed to show her, but Scorpius could be alive and Harry wasn’t going to let rules stand in the way of that. Hermione wasn’t going to, either.

“But it’s been so long,” Hermione said. “It might be for nothing.”

Harry nodded, and really, there wasn’t anything else to say.

* * *

Scorpius acted out as much as he could in the next few days. So much so she would leave the room as soon as he started yelling. Then whenever she came back, Scorpius would sob and ask her to let him outside, just for a little bit. The furthest he walked was to the bathroom. And he spent most of his time on the bed, in that room. Scorpius was very careful not to ever think of it as _his_ bed, or _his_ room.

“I am trying to help you,” she’d said every day. 

“Please,” Scorpius would reply. “Just for a few minutes.”

By the end of the week, she relented. Scorpius’ gratitude was, disturbingly, not completely faked. She let him out of the house for a while, keeping her eyes on him at all times. Scorpius tried to see if there was any clue to tell where he was, but as far as he could see, they were at a typical English farmland. There wasn’t a house in sight. And Scorpius didn’t doubt she had warded the house so it couldn’t be seen or heard if he tried to scream for help.

“Thank you,” Scorpius said when they went back in. This was much harder than he thought. He tried to make it convincing. “Really, thank you.”

She smiled. “Would you like to discuss the books now?”

Scorpius gulped. “Okay,” he said.

So it went the next few days. She would let him spend some time outside every day for a while. They started taking meals together in the kitchen. And every night she would have Scorpius summarize the books she gave him, about Death Eaters, and about his father. She stopped spelling to bed to keep him there. He could walk around the room if he wanted.

When they finished all the books, a week later. Scorpius asked if he could get some more. She had actually smiled at that.

“What do you want to read?” She asked. 

Scorpius scrambled his mind for some of the books he had read before, but before she could reply, he blurted out, “Can I come with you?”

She looked at him.

“It would be nice,” Scorpius said, hunching his shoulder to act timid, “to have some novels as well.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time, but her eyes softened when she looked at Scorpius.

The next morning, she came into the room and said, “You can choose five books.”

Scorpius jumped up. His heart pounded so hard he thought he would faint. He wanted to throw his hands up and cry. And he had to try extra hard not to think about his father or Albus or Alice or anyone he’d refused to let himself think about. Scorpius gave her a slightly too wide grin.

There was apparently only one magical book shop around that area. Scorpius didn’t try to do anything when they landed in an alley after she Side-Along him. He might only have this one chance. 

Then he gasped when a cold feeling ran through him, and he turned to see her put away her wand just in time. 

“Come along.” She walked away, and despite trying to stay put, once she was some distance away, Scorpius’ legs started walking on their own. Like he was being tugged on a leash. When Scorpius fell into steps next to her, he kept his head down and didn’t trust his voice to sound normal if he tried to speak. 

* * *

“How was he today?” Harry asked. 

“Better,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Slightly. I managed to get him to read something with me.”

Harry nodded, and kissed her on the cheek. He found Draco in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Harry said and went to stand by Draco right away.

“Hello,” Draco said. “Tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Draco didn’t ask how the case was going. He said not to tell him anything that wasn’t progress. But then if Harry came home and stayed quiet, that would be answer enough. 

They sipped their tea in silence. Harry could tell that Draco wanted to say something. 

Just when Harry was about to ask, Draco said, “Would you.”

“Yes,” Harry said. Did it matter what the end of the sentence was?

Draco didn’t seem to notice. “Would you mind,” he said quietly. “staying home tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Harry said, even though the thought of not working left his heart pounding in panic. 

“And do you mind,” Draco said, his voice getting wetter. “Sleeping with me in my room tonight?”

“Anything you need,” Harry said. 

Without requesting, Grimmauld Place conjured up a second bed right next to Draco’s. Close enough that Draco could reach him if he needed. After laying there for just a few minutes, Draco’s arm reached out, and Harry took Draco’s hand in his. They fell asleep, fingers tangled in knots.

* * *

Harry went back to work on the day after. But he tried to bring some of it home, just so he could leave earlier. Hermione hadn’t contacted him; she wouldn’t until she had something to go on. According to Ron, she’d not sleep much, and for the first time, Ron didn’t try and get her to. 

Savage was getting more frustrated every day. Harry knew she took it personally, as Harry did. Whoever denied Harry’s requests for muggle forensics was going to get hell once this was over, if Savage’s increasingly violent muttering was any indication. 

Even knowing sometimes a case was just doomed to fail from the beginning, and even though he had come to terms with the fact after years on the force, this was like his first cold case all over again. Only with the amount of stress, desperation and anguish doubled every time he thought about Draco or read another of Albus’ letters. 

It could be said as sheer luck, as it was wont to happen for Harry, that on the morning when he felt like everything was getting darker with no exit. When he thought that there was no way he could recover from this. When all that was holding him together was the small part of him that always held since he was a boy. That the thought of Draco and Scorpius was all that was moving Harry’s body. It could be said that it was luck, on such a morning when Harry got to his office, there in his chair, folding into himself and head buried in crossed arms, was Scorpius.

* * *

Scorpius took his time looking through the selection of books. He picked out a few fictions, just to make it seem like he was actually deciding. He meticulously went through every shelf. And she was always just some distance behind, the spell keeping them from straying away. He felt her present from his nape down to the base of his spine. It never occurred to him how awful it could feel to have someone watch you like that. Like if he made any unwanted move, his spine would get wrenched out. Scorpius kept his head down, even when people passed by him. God, he was so stupid, how did he imagine this was going to go? He should have written a note so he could slip it to someone. He should just make a run for it. Maybe if he just ran wanting enough, he could outrun the spell. He should — 

A sticker caught his eyes. He was in the early childhood section, and one of the books had a shiny sticker on it that read: _Practice Wand included_!

Practice Wand. Scorpius’ eyes almost glazed over as he took it in. Made from recycled woods, with non-magical animal parts for wand core. Scorpius had one when he was a child. His parents got it so he could practice wand movements, and he’d accidentally blew up the sink.

 _“Careful, darling,”_ his mother had said. _“It can still channel magic, and little kids can’t control it yet.”_

Scorpius picked out two books from that shelf and made a show of craning his neck to look at more books as he tore the sticker off. 

When he brought the books over, the one with the wand was stacked in the middle. She looked at the titles. And as Scorpius had hoped, her gaze was directed at a trashy American cowboy romance. Scorpius flushed helplessly when she gave him a look. She paid without saying anything else.

That night, during dinner, Scorpius tried to remember everything he could about her. The position of her moles. The color of her eyes. Her height. She never told him her name. 

“Have you always lived alone?” Scorpius asked when she collected their dishes. 

“No,” she said. “I had a husband. He passed away. Heart condition, a leftover of the war.”

“Oh,” Scorpius said. “I’m sorry.”

She walked away without a word, and Scorpius took the cue and went into the room. He lay on the bed, listening to every sound the house was making. It wasn’t a magical house, thank god, or else he might never get out. He strained his everything to make out every noise. He heard her door click shut, and Scorpius waited, without moving a single muscle for no reason then he was nervous. His whole body grew warmer and warmer despite the cold night. His armpits sweated uncomfortably, and for some awful reason, he felt like he needed to use the bathroom. _I’m trying to stage a breakout,_ he thought. _Why is my body betraying me?_

Then, after three hours, Scorpius gently peeled the plastic wrapping off the book, little by little. It probably took him about ten minutes, because he still didn’t know if she could hear him when he was in this room. Finally, Scorpius gingerly opened the book under layers of blanket, and found the wand.

It was painted with bright red coloring, and it smelled nothing like a real wand. But when Scorpius closed his fingers around it he could practically melt from the feeling of magic — just that small amount — running through his blood. 

He crept out of bed and went to the door. It had a normal lock, but Scorpius had tried to pick his way out during his first few days here, like in movies. Then he had tried kicking it down, with nothing to show but his bruises. 

Now, as Scorpius pointed the wand at the lock, he thought about his father. How worried he must be, not knowing where Scorpius was. Or about Albus, and hoped he hadn’t found a new best friend. And Alice, who was waiting for him to write back because she liked hearing about his ‘strange boarding school’. About Harry, who smiled the best smiles that got his father to smile too. Or about Albus’ siblings and cousins who never really cared for Scorpius but he just wanted to see them again too. He thought about playing the piano for the Drama Club. Really, he was just thinking about going home.

Scorpius’s whole face hurt from how much he was holding back. He broke the skin on his lips, and kept biting it to stifle any noise. Without a window, the room felt dead. No sound, no breeze, just everything being trapped in there. He was putting this off because he was scared he’d mess up his only chance.

Bringing his other hand up to steady his wand, like he did when he first held one, Scorpius whispered, “ _Alohomora_.”

The lock clicked. Just like that. And Scorpius was panicking because he didn’t know if he should run for it or if he should keep quiet. So he just kept moving. He crept to the front door, keeping his body at an angle so he could still see her door, and repeated the spell. 

The front door opened as well, and he could feel the wand cracking in his hand. It was never meant to conduct actual spells. Scorpius held onto it tightly, and squeezed himself through the gap. 

The freezing night air felt unwelcome on his burning skin. Nothing was until he could be far, far away. His shoes got wet from the dew painting the grass. He didn’t run. He could just imagine the woman flinging the door open and petrifying him after hearing his footsteps. Every step was big and light. He held his breath until he couldn’t and let out a paced, shuddering exhale. He walked like that in the darkness for so long, but he kept walking until he glanced back and saw the cottage was far enough that the house just looked like a house. Enough that Scorpius could breathe again. He raised the wand and cast, “ _Point me._ ”

The wand spun and started to emit a breaking noise, but not before it stood still, tip pointed at the hills. It shattered and Scorpius bit his lips to keep from gasping. He held his bloodied hand to his chest and started to run. The moon was shining a path for him on the wet grass. The wind howled past him, as though urging him to never stop. The dew felt divine as it soaked his socks. And the cold felt like a warm welcome against his wet face.

* * *

Harry hadn’t cried like this since the war. 

Scorpius had been asleep when Harry pulled him into his arms, groggily choking out a “Wha?” before realizing what was happening. His arms wound around Harry’s neck, even though a fifteen-year-old boy should be too old to cling, but Harry wouldn’t let him go. 

“Harry. Harry,” Scorpius was saying. “I want to see my dad — ”

Harry let go of Scorpius, still not really able to form any words. He fired off two Patronuses, and took Scorpius back in his arms again. “We thought you were dead,” he said.

“I hadn’t been gone that long for you to think that, right?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s . . . nevermind. I’m taking you to the Healer.”

“I want to see father!” Scorpius yelled. Scorpius never raised his voice.

“I contacted him already,” Harry said. “But I need to make sure you’re —”

The door swung back with so much force that it nearly ricochet shut again. Scorpius looked up with hope, but it was Savage, staring at them.

“Merlin,” she said. “Potter, you found him?” 

“No, he was here when I came in.” Harry turned to Scorpius, despite desperately wanting to know what happened as well, Harry said. “We need to get you to a Healer, or St. Mungo’s, _now_.”

But they didn’t get to. This time when the door slammed opened, Draco was there, panting. His eyes were only on Scorpius, and the boy wrenched out of Harry’s arms and flung himself at Draco. Draco was saying something, but they all got jumbled up. Then Draco seemed to give up on talking at all and just started to press kisses on Scorpius head while Scorpius had his face firmly pressed into Draco’s neck.

Savage left and came back with one of their Healers, who had to work awkwardly around Draco and Scorpius since neither of them acknowledged the Healer and didn’t bother loosening their grips. Savage stood next to the Healer, looking paranoid and casting revealing charms on Scorpius until she was satisfied before joining Harry.

“Do we have to take statements today?” Harry asked.

Savage sighed. “Hopefully the perp will still be found the next day.”

* * *

Scorpius didn’t question why they Flooed to Grimmauld Place. Harry was about to leave and make some food when the house gave a shudder and three huge cups of steaming tea and a plate of hot sandwiches, stacking on top of each other in perfect balance, appeared on the table. Scorpius’ mouth fell open at the spread and Harry nudged at him to eat. Scorpius tucked in like he hadn’t eaten for weeks. Draco looked on with naked worry. 

“Were you starved?” Draco asked, face very young and white.

“No,” Scorpius said. “It’s just been awhile since I could just eat, without worrying about anything else.”

“Scorpius,” Harry interjected softly. “Do you want to talk about what happened? If you just tell us now, I can log it as your statement, then you won’t have to go back to the Auror department.”

“Oh,” Scorpius said. “Okay. Yeah. Have you told Albus?”

Harry smiled. “I owled him already. I’m sure McGonagall would let him leave school for a few hours.”

“Okay,” Scorpius looked to the Floo. “I just. I’m not sure where to start.”

“You don’t have to if you aren’t ready,” Harry said.

Scorpius shoved another sandwich into his mouth, chewing loudly and messily. Draco said nothing of it. He just stared at Scorpius as though he couldn't believe he was here with them. 

“I took the train back,” Scorpius said. “To London. At first I just wanted to call someone. I borrowed a phone at the train station and called home. No one picked up.”

Harry’s heart clenched the moment Draco’s eyes widened. “I’m —” he looked to Harry, then back to Scorpius. “I’m so sorry,” he choked. “I wasn’t there to answer you. Scorpius — ”

Scorpius hurriedly put down his food and hugged Draco. “I wasn’t blaming you! I’m glad you weren’t all alone.” Scorpius’ eyes met Harry’s.

When he started again, he didn’t let his father go. “I . . . well . . . I stole some money from a guy,” Scorpius paused, looking ashamed, as though Draco and Harry were going to judge him. “To buy tickets to London. Then I used the visitor entrance to the Ministry and I only really remember where Harry’s office was, so I went there.”

“Where were you, though?” Harry asked.

“I’m not sure where I was,” Scorpius said. “But after I got out, I ran for about . . . three hours? Two? And ended up in Carlisle.”

“Can’t he just give the department his memory?” Draco interrupted. 

“Most people don’t want law enforcement getting their memory,” Harry replied gently. “Scorpius?”

The boy blinked. “I don’t mind.” His nose scrunched up when Harry extracted the memory. Draco gave him a grimace.

“I’m sorry, I just . . . I want to take him home,” Draco said. 

Harry kept his face neutral. “I understand. Should I tell Albus to come tomorrow instead?”

Scorpius gave his father such a strong, beseeching look that Draco smiled. “Just send him our way,” Draco said, already standing up. Scorpius stuck to his father even in the Floo. Harry tried not to let it get to him when Draco left without glancing his way.

* * *

The next two weeks saw Harry in the office more than he was home, which Grimmauld Place made wary and dark since Draco had left. Of course logically Harry knew Draco didn’t mean any harm; he’d just gotten his son back after months of hell, of course he wouldn’t spare much mind on other people. So Harry didn’t try to contact them other than to update the case. But he knew people had been showing up at Draco’s house. Professors and classmates, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, along with the Potter kids; Ron and Hermione brought Rose, who brought Scorpius all the class notes he missed, and rumor had it that James couldn’t stop crying, a fact he denied in letters to Harry. 

Hermione showed up at Harry’s office one day and asked why he wasn’t at Draco’s.

“I want to get this over with,” Harry said. “Hadn’t they suffered long enough?”

The Auror team that went to investigate the area came back with their report: A woman named Margaret Small, recently widowed. She lived in Burgh by Sands on a Warded property. The house saw some attention from the Ministry a week earlier: use of underage magic. But the owls couldn’t find the source. She had very recently died from an accident. According to a local resident who was biking nearby, he saw Small running around, waving a stick, before slipping on the wet grass and tumbling down the hill. She broke her neck on the way down. 

Her husband was John Small. Pictures found in Small’s cottage confirmed John Doe’s identity. Harry logged all of these down and submitted the report to Savage, who issued a public statement the next day, including the fact that Scorpius was kidnapped because of Draco’s past. Harry thought she did it to prove a point, but he was worried the press would hound on Draco and Scorpius. 

Somehow, owling Draco felt stiff now, after everything. So Harry just went home and slept in the guest room.

* * *

Draco showed up at Grimmauld Place, nearly a month after Scorpius’ return. The house practically shuddered with pleasure at having Draco there again, and Harry could only flush at how similar the feeling inside his chest felt to the thrumming in the wall. Draco smiled at Harry. He looked fuller. Like he’d been puffed up with happy things. He was wearing that white fur cloak again. 

“Hi,” Harry said.

“Hello,” Draco murmured. “I’m sorry for not coming sooner. I honestly hadn’t realized how much time had passed until Scorpius told me he wanted to go back to school.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, meaning it. Of course it was fine. Draco wasn’t responsible for Harry’s feelings, especially when those feelings now ran deep enough to melt if Harry allowed it. “How is he?”

“Good. He’s . . . not completely okay, but he’s seeing a Mind Healer every week now,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “He insisted he didn’t need one.”

“Teenagers,” Harry smiled.

Draco hadn’t stopped smiling since he came in, even when he said, “I had expected you to come and see us.”

Harry glanced away. “I wanted to give you two some time.”

Draco let out a laugh. “That’d make you the only one. Not that I minded, of course. It’s lovely seeing so many people happy that he’s safe. He’s certainly a more liked kid than I ever was.”

“I’m not going to argue with that,” Harry said. “Good thing you’re liked now.”

“You seem to be forgetting that this happened to Scorpius precisely because I’m not liked.”

“That’s not your problem.”

“It doesn’t matter whose problem it is as long as my son gets hurt from it,” Draco said. He sighed, and took Harry’s hand. He led him to the couch. “I’ve actually come with a purpose.”

Harry’s hands were tingling from where Draco was touching him. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to thank you,” Draco said. “Now that it’s over, I can’t imagine how I’d fare if I had to go through it alone. And I realize I may have not expressed this gratitude enough.”

That wasn’t true, Harry knew. That wasn’t true at all. 

“And I really am sorry about how I left,” Draco glanced at the house, as though he was saying it to Grimmauld Place too. “But honestly, I don’t remember much of that day. Everything was hazy, and I didn’t realize how I’d handled it until Scorpius pointed it out.”

Harry squeezed their hands. “It’s nothing, really.”

“But it’s not,” Draco said. His breathing had taken on a desperate pace. “It’s not, because you were working yourself to the point that the Head Auror had to force you off the case. You were sleeping less than three hours every day. You were also mourning Scorpius, and yet you still found the time and energy for me. I just . . . how could it be nothing . . . ?”

Harry wanted to tell Draco that of course it was nothing. It was nothing compared to how heavily Harry felt for Draco. How everything bad that had happened always flinched when confronted with how much love Harry had inside of him for the man in front of him. How it was hard, because of course it was, but it was harder to see Draco suffering, and no amount of lost sleep and heartache was going to change that. How compared to the countless _I love yous_ Harry didn’t say, of course it felt like nothing.

But Draco was looking at him like it was everything. “I’ve made you something,” Draco said, still staring avidly at Harry. “Yes, I’ve. Made something.” He blushed an intense red, and it made his eyes stand out. “But it’s at my house. Are you busy now?”

Harry was expected at a meeting in about half an hour. “No,” he breathed.

They went by Floo. The house was empty, and in utter chaos. It was clear it had been seeing large crowds nonstop for weeks. Draco didn’t look too bothered by it. Scorpius was visiting Alice, Draco said. He led Harry up the stairs to his bedroom.

“It’s not quite done yet,” Draco said, flushing. He picked up a box. “Some of them are completed. I’m still working on more.”

Inside the box were about a dozen gemstones, each around the size of a penny. Harry picked one up, and he could feel the magic thrumming from inside.

“I based it off one of my research projects from before,” Draco said. “It’s a safety measure, of a sort. You can key it to someone, if it was smashed, it would alert the person that the wearer needed help.”

Harry stared at those shiny stones. Draco kept talking, “After Scorpius came back, I couldn’t rest thinking that it could happen again. So I started on these. I gave one to Scorpius. And I thought it a waste if there’s only one. So I made some for the people you cared about. You, Weasley, Granger, Ginevra, your children, Teddy, Mrs. Weasley, Rose, Hugo,” Draco said each one aloud as though convincing Harry that he’d got them all. But Draco hadn’t, and he seemed to have picked up on that. “I’m sure there are more Weasleys — ”

“What about you?” Harry asked. 

Draco looked taken aback. “What?”

“Where's your stone?” Harry said. “You’re close to my heart, too.”

When Draco looked at him this time, his face was very red and his eyes were very gray in it. Harry couldn’t but lean in. His hands went to clench Draco’s waist and Draco’s fingers dug into Harry’s arm. Draco’s breath was hitting Harry’s lips. Harry’s heart pounded like it was trying to get to Draco. 

“How could you have not included yourself?” Harry asked, genuinely distraught. “Have I made you think you were anything less than fundamental to me, less than the basis of every movement I make every single day?”

Draco’s eyes were rosy with fear and his fingers hooked into Harry’s skin. His words were gossamer, “I can’t bear another loss, Harry. If it happens again, I’m not sure I can recover from it. The next time, I’ll truly be — alone.”

“No,” Harry said. “You are never going to be alone. Draco, too many people love you for that to happen.”

Draco’s lips trembled. His face red. Who knew a person could flush from sadness, and for it to look so similar to laughter-flush. Draco’s eyes were bright and his brows drawn tightly together to keep anything from falling. Harry’s thumb caressed the corner of Draco’s eye.

“Harry . . . ” Draco breathed.

Harry tilted Draco’s face up to press a kiss to his right eye, then left. Then again. Then on the bridge to the tip of his nose. His cupid’s bow, the one Harry hadn’t stopped thinking about for years. His cheeks, many, many times.

“Someone loves you too much for that to happen, ” Harry murmured into Draco’s burning cheek. Pressing a kiss with every word. “Draco, you’re not meant to be alone.”

“Harry . . . ” Draco turned his face just so and gasped. His body, soft and supple, reminded Harry of lovely wildflowers that sprout after a storm. His breath was harsh and hot just like his hands as they gripped Harry for support.

“Please,” Harry said with his lips against Draco, the words sinking into the corner of his mouth. “Please know that I love you.”

Draco pressed his face closer.

“Please,” Harry said again.

“Yes,” Draco said, voice and lips cushy and honeyed. “ _Yes_.” 

And it should be noted at this moment, that Harry had thought about kissing Draco for years, had thought about being kissed, but he’d never waited for it. He’d never thought about the events leading up to the kiss, or the words that would make Draco say “Yes.” He only ever really thought about the kiss.

When it happened, all there was was the kiss, as well. When their lips pressed, unyielding on both ends. Nothing registered but the kiss. 

Draco pulled back, gasped loudly. His chest expanding as though taking in air just before a jump. When Draco’s lips found Harry again, Draco’s arms were around him; his teeth on Harry’s lips; his nose pressing into Harry’s cheek; the irruption of small noises, murmured into their kiss was all that kept Harry from decocting into nothing but love

* * *

A good while later, a nice while later, Draco and Harry had ended up on the bed and did nothing but furiously kiss for the past hour. Between gasps, Draco said he hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time. Harry replied, without realizing what it would do to Draco, that he hadn’t kissed anyone since he got divorced.

Draco whined at that, and pressed Harry into the mattress by falling atop of him. Harry surged up, desperately looking for Draco’s tongue in his mouth. Draco kissed Harry like he wanted to give Harry all of his kisses. Like he would be happy to just kiss Harry. Harry wrapped around Draco and tugged on Draco’s bottom lip before closing around it again, hoping that it was conveying the same thing. Draco had his arms on either side of Harry’s face, fingers twined loosely above Harry’s head. Harry’s palms caressed Draco’s jutting shoulder blade, moving achingly slow.

They really should have realized they couldn’t stay kissing forever, no matter what their lips tried to have them think. Neither of them heard Scorpius come back until there was a knock at the door.

Draco wrenched himself away from the kiss so violently the smacking of lips sounded like a strike. They looked at each other in panic before realizing the door was shut (not locked). Thankfully Scorpius didn’t try to come in.

“Father, are you in there?”

“Yes,” Draco replied hastily, his voice still raw from kissing. “Just got out of the shower. Be down in a moment.”

“Okay. Do you want tea? I’ll make a pot.”

“That would be lovely,” Draco said, smiling at the door as Scorpius’ footsteps faded.

Looking up at Draco, Harry said, “He is _such_ a good kid,” not without a little awe. “I don’t think any of my kids ever offered to make me tea.”

Draco threw his arms around Harry and sank into another kiss. Then he replied, “He did have to take care of his mother, and me, in the process.”

“Still,” Harry murmured, hazy from the kiss. “Still. He’s wonderful.”

Draco nodded, attaching his lips back to Harry’s mouth. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Draco panted when he pulled back. “But I don’t want Scorpius to find out about this by catching us _in flagrante_.”

“I know,” Harry said. “You think he wouldn’t tell Albus that their dads came out of the bedroom together? Doesn’t matter that we were just kissing, they’ll not tell it like that.”

Draco, still laying on top of Harry, pressed a finger to Harry’s red and swollen lips. “It didn’t feel like just kissing.”

Harry groaned and rolled over so he could sink into Draco’s mouth harder.

Draco pulled back with a gasp again. “I need — I need to go downstairs,” he said, but there was the most adorably disappointed pout on his face that was perfect for Harry to kiss.

“You’re cute when you pout,” Harry said.

“I do not pout,” Draco said, eyes closing at the kiss. “That was a . . . moue.”

“Of course,” Harry said sagely. “How will I leave? Can I sneak out?”

“The house is warded,” Draco said. “I just added them. You can’t use the Disillusionment Charm or Apparate. Does Albus still have your cloak?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, getting up reluctantly. 

“Any idea then?” Draco grinned, propping his face on his fist, laying on his stomach with his legs in the air.

Harry couldn’t not look at him. It’s almost like Draco was trying to keep him there. “I’m an Auror, I know how to get away without Apparating,” Harry said, right before climbing out the window, since they both realized getting away from criminals and sneaking away from kids were two very different things.

So there Harry was, one leg out of Draco’s window and trying to climb down two stories before slipping. Draco gasped and Harry hurriedly cast a Cushioning Charm to avoid crashing into the ground. Harry struggled up to a stand and grinned up at Draco, who was glaring. 

“Don’t do that!” Draco hissed. “Do you not realize I’m having trouble dealing with people I — getting hurt?”

“I’m usually fine,” Harry said, and patted his pocket, where Draco’s box of stones was. “And I have your protection, remember?”

“That doesn’t help to prevent a broken neck!” Draco said.

“I love you,” Harry said, just because he really wanted to then. “When can I see you again?”

“Come again tonight, for dinner,” Draco said. He was looking at the sky, but Harry knew he was blushing — all the way down to his neck. 

* * *

Around five in the afternoon the Floo flared and Harry appeared. He stopped when he saw Scorpius sitting on the couch. 

Harry smiled widely. “Scorpius!”

Scorpius hadn’t seen Harry since the day he got back, and he could feel the absence in his bones. Scorpius grinned back. “You finally came!”

Harry’s cheek darkened. “Yeah, I didn’t mean to not check up on you.”

“I’m glad you came,” Scorpius said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Harry’s expression immediately turned to worry. “Is everything okay? Are you okay? Do you need something? Is it Draco?”

Scorpius’s eyebrows shot up. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to thank you.”

“What?” Harry said. “You don’t have to thank me. I didn’t even manage to find you.”

Scorpius knew he had to do some damage control on Harry’s guilt as well as his father’s. But he could start on that after dinner. “No, I meant, thank you for taking care of my father for the last few months.” Scorpius gave Harry’s clothes on obvious once-over. “You dressed up.”

Harry blushed further. “Well — I haven’t been to people’s house for dinner in awhile — I thought — ”

“I think out of all of father’s dates, not that he had a lot, but I think I like you the best,” Scorpius said lightly.

Harry sputtered. “How — I mean, what — ”

Scorpius missed making people speechless. “I saw you fall out of father’s window.”

Harry buried his face in his hands and started muttering. Scorpius patted Harry’s arm. “It’s okay. I’ll pretend I don’t know until you guys are ready.”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled into his hands.

“Is that Harry?” his father’s voice sounded from the kitchen. “Is he here?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius replied. “You should go. He’s been waiting for you ever since you left.”

If Harry’s face got any redder, Scorpius worried he would pass out. So he quickly ushered Harry to the kitchen where his father was still in the process of measuring every ingredient perfectly for their treacle tart. 

Scorpius couldn’t help teasing Harry a little, just because he knew Harry was going to be with them for good. He could hear his father asking Harry if he wanted peas in the salad, and his father sounded _shy_. Which Scorpius couldn’t understand because weren’t they in the bedroom earlier today? But then Harry, with equal shyness, asked if he could help with dinner, as though this was the first time they had eaten together. Scorpius almost couldn’t believe this was two people madly in love (he and Albus had known quite some time. They’ve bets on when it’ll happen. Harry was wrong: Scorpius wouldn’t tell Albus. What kind of Slytherin gives away their upper hand?)

Scorpius tip-toed away from the kitchen so Harry and his father could continue with whatever adults do when they were in love. Not that Scorpius was any expert on love, but he was an expert on home. And everything about Harry seeped of it, asking his father to live with him so he could take care of him, to falling out the window and the way Harry had stood there, looking up at his father the way seafaring men looked to stars: the lights that guided them home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on [Tumblr](https://cibeewastaken.tumblr.com/)


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